Burn With Me: A Captain America FanFic
by Alex Morte
Summary: Agent Dani Ryan is given a mission to protect the first Avenger and help him find his AWOL best friend. Will they succeed? What danger will stand in their way? Will romance bloom for these two warriors, or will the unspeakable keep them apart? (Formerly "Freaks Like Us")
1. Chapter 1

Spoiler Alert: This fan fiction takes place after Avengers: Age of Ultron. I'm trying to keep AoU spoilers to a minimum, but I have to add a few minor AoU details.

Side Note: I realize that there are no mutants in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but for the sake of artistic purposes, I am combining comic books and the Captain America movie storyline to propel the story further. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1

Something told me today was going to suck. Call it female intuition or a gut feeling, but the second Nick Fury called me in to his office at the new Avenger's headquarters, I knew it was going to be a bad day. Just how bad remained to be seen.

I opened the shiny metal door to Fury's office without knocking. He had windows, and even I wasn't short enough to miss when there was floor to ceiling glass. Granted, I'm not incredibly short. I'm about five-foot-three, which is close to average height for females, but sometimes I just couldn't see through windows without a boost. I had a feeling that Fury had taken short people in to account when he'd had the offices decorated. After Hydra had almost killed him, I didn't blame the guy for being a little paranoid.

Without being told, I closed the door and faced my director with my hands clasped behind my back like the good soldier I was.

"You called for me, sir?" I asked, looking him in his one good eye.

He leveled his usual gaze at me, the one that said he didn't have time for games, and said, "Yes, Agent Ryan. I did. I have a mission for you. You're going to accompany Captain America while he searches for a missing person, and you're going to give him access to our technological databases."

"Sir?" I asked.

I put every ounce of confusion in to that one word that I could. Fury didn't seem to care that I thought he was pulling my chain, or that I thought he'd gone just a little bit bonkers. He stood and made his way around his desk, moving past me to go to the door. Was he being serious? He couldn't be serious. Me, accompany Captain Steve Rogers? I mean, I'd been loaned out to "accompany" other people. Accompany, to Fury, meant bodyguard, by the way. He wanted me to be Captain America's bodyguard. I could understand Fury wanting me to help the Captain with technological equipment. From what I'd heard, two year olds were better with computers than he was. But being his bodyguard? That was ludicrous.

"You can't be serious," I said, following him out in to the hallway. "Rogers is perfectly capable of handling himself."

"Against all of Hydra?" Fury asked incredulously.

"Rogers can definitely handle Hydra agents," I argued. "He's Captain America for godssake."

"Even Captain America needs help. During the war, he rarely worked alone. Even today he rarely works alone," Fury explained.

"He single handedly broke in to a Nazi Hydra base, freed over four hundred soldiers, and destroyed the base, but you think he can't handle a search for a single man?" I asked.

"No," was the succinct response.

I closed my mouth and walked next to Fury in silence, practically biting my tongue to keep from telling him that he'd sustained a serious head injury when the hit had been put out on his life. The times when Rogers had needed military help, he'd been on a time crunch. World War II, the alien invasion, the Hydra infestation of S.H.I.E.L.D., taking out the Hydra bases with the Avengers. He could have done all of that single handedly if he hadn't been on a time limit. He wasn't on a time limit now. Rogers didn't deal in missing persons cases because he wasn't a cop. It also seemed pretty obvious that the person he was searching for wasn't in any danger of being murdered or cops would have actually been called in. This had to be personal, and personal doesn't usually have time limits. Usually.

"Who's the missing person, Director?" I asked, using long strides to keep up with the significantly taller Fury.

"James 'Bucky' Barnes," Fury replied.

"Hold on a second," I scoffed. "We're searching for the guy who was engineered by Hydra to be a killing machine? The one who was hired to put you six feet under?"

"The one and the same," Fury replied. "Turns out Hydra wiped out Barnes' memory. Took him damn near killing Rogers for him to remember who he was."

I was being sent on a bodyguard mission with Captain America to find a super-human killing machine who had almost killed Fury and his own best friend before remembering that he shouldn't do that. Great. Yep. Today sucked.

"Wonderful," I sighed, sarcasm dripping from every letter.

We came upon the mirrored hallway that was big enough to fit the Hulk and found Steve Rogers standing smack dab in the middle of the room. This was my first time meeting him face to face, and I had to say that I was a little star struck. Well, I was more than star struck. I was a female who hadn't gotten laid in forever and he was hot. Fury and I walked toward him, and he walked toward us, giving me a much better vantage point to see if he was really as hot as the pictures told me he was. As he got closer, I realized, he was. Oh, mama, he was.

He was in civilian clothes today, though I was certain that was going to change soon. He wore a blue and green plaid button down that brought out the icy-coolness of his blue eyes. The fabric strained at his muscled shoulders while the buttons held the front of the shirt together as if their little plastic lives depended on it. A pair of form-fitting jeans and white sneakers completed the outfit. His blonde hair was parted and perfectly shaped. I realized I was staring as he opened full pink lips to speak.

"Did Sam give you any more information on Bucky?" Rogers asked.

He stepped forward, close enough that I had to lift my chin a little to look up at him. He was six feet tall, after all. My eyes were level with his collarbone and the pale flesh that disappeared in to the top button of his collared shirt. Hey, at least he wasn't any taller. I'd have gotten a crick in my neck like I usually got with Fury. It was only a two inch difference, but those two inches still hurt a little. Ha! That's what she said. Ugh, I'd have to mentally slap myself for that one later.

"No. Barnes seems to have fallen off the map again," Fury replied.

Steve looked down, a sigh catching in his chest, making it puff out a bit further than usual. I watched the buttons strain, but was careful to catch his eyes when he looked up again. Mustn't gawk at the Captain. Shit like that had gotten me in trouble before. Turns out, some people didn't like to be gawked at and some people see it as a flat out invitation for "a good time" later on.

"If Wilson does come up with anything new, it'll be directed to your new bodyguard, Agent Dani Ryan," Fury said.

He didn't have to motion to me for me to catch the hint that I needed to step forward and introduce myself. Steve looked as perplexed as I felt when Fury mentioned that he'd be getting a bodyguard, and he turned his confused gaze to me as I stepped forward. The confusion only got worse. He'd seen me when we'd walked up, right? I was short, but god damn, I wasn't that short. So why was his confusion getting worse as he looked at me? Had he just dismissed me until the time was needed, or had his own personal problems about Barnes narrowed down his vision to include only Fury? Rogers didn't seem like the dismissive type, so I was hanging my hat on him having tunnel-vision.

I admit, I certainly don't look like I should be named Dani, and I sure as hell don't look like a bodyguard. I'm a short woman with thick, straight black hair down to the bottoms of my shoulder blades. My almond eyes are candy apple green with a ring of gold around the pupil, and are framed by thick black lashes. My lips are full and smooth and bright pink against milky white skin, my nose is small and straight, and my cheekbones are high and sharp. I'm thin and covered in lean muscle. My breasts are average size C's that lead down to a thin waist and narrow hips. By all accounts, I should have been a very short model or an actress rather than a government agent, but there I was, all decked out in weapons and well trained in hand-to-hand combat.

I held my hand out to Rogers as he gave me a quick once over. The look had nothing to do with sex, like it might with most men who were sizing up a female. No, it was all professional, and it ended with him having one big question behind his eyes: how was I going to be his bodyguard when I was significantly smaller than the body I was supposed to be guarding? He took my hand like a gentleman and I gave him a firm handshake. He had to good grace give my hand a firm shake and not hold it like it would break, like most men did to me, but I knew that his firm grip was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to his strength. They didn't call him super-human for nothing. Hell, one time I heard Tony Stark say that Rogers had pulled apart a log with his bare hands. Mr. Stark then proceeded to call Rogers a showoff and said that anyone could pull that stunt with the right leverage. Yeah, right.

"I'm Dani Ryan," I stated as I pulled my hand from the warm circle of his fingers. "And I'm not your bodyguard. I'm more of a technologically savvy companion more than anything."

"She's your bodyguard," Fury corrected.

I flashed him a glare over my shoulder that I knew Rogers would catch, because there was no way he couldn't, and stepped back beside my boss. Not many people got to glare at Fury, but I was a particularly special person and I got certain benefits that others didn't.

"I don't need a bodyguard," Rogers said, his brow furrowing in mild frustration and confusion.

"We agree on something already, Captain," I said with a smile. I turned that smile on Fury and made it a baring of teeth. "I'm a tech savvy companion."

"Don't argue with me, Agent, or you'll be pulling desk duty for a year," Fury said. Gods help me, he meant business. I hated desk work. After my first screw up, I'd been relegated to desk work. Me, and everyone around me, was happy that I'd made it out with my sanity intact. I was not a pencil pusher by any means, and I'd sooner shove a pen in my eye than spend another year in a chair.

"I'm arguing with you," Rogers stated suddenly. "I don't need a bodyguard. I-"

Fury cut him off by holding up one hand. Slowly, he turned his head to level one perfect brown eye on me. I could almost hear his neck creaking. I was tempted to tell him he was old and needed to be oiled like the Tin Man, but I was betting that would get me sent to machine maintenance, regardless of how much he liked me.

"Agent Ryan, please demonstrate why Captain Rogers would be at an advantage if he had you for a bodyguard," Fury said.

I looked at him, utterly confused. He couldn't possibly mean that he wanted me to- no, he wasn't that crazy. Was he? I searched his face, looking for anything that might tell me he wasn't telling me to do what I thought he was telling me to do. Everything I came back with told me that he'd gone mental. Maybe he'd spent too much time working behind a desk. Or maybe that hit really had given him brain damage.

"You can't possibly mean-," his gaze stayed the same. "Sir, I was hired under the premise that I would rarely be us-" he didn't so much as flinch.

I cut myself off with an angry sigh. He wasn't kidding, and his patient waiting would only last so long. The sigh thinned my lips, pulling them to my teeth in frustration. I spared a glance at Steve, who looked even more befuddled now than he had previously, before glaring at Fury. That glare would have made lesser men piss their pants. Fury was not lesser men, fortunately for him.

"Fine. But for the record," I jabbed a finger in Fury's direction, "I don't like you."

I turned back to Steve and took a step to the side so I could have both him and Fury in my sights. My eyes settled on Steve and he looked back at me, wordlessly asking me what the hell was going on. Poor guy. He'd just been thrown in to one hell of a situation without even being asked if it was okay first. I guessed he was used to it, though.

"How do you feel about heights, Captain?" I asked, lifting my chin slightly. It was a slight show of dominance, because in this field, I had everyone beat and I damn well knew it. It was also a show of dominance toward Fury, my way of letting him know I wasn't happy about his decision and could totally kick his ass if I felt like it. Yes, I could kick his ass if I felt like going to prison and getting fired, but I could level him in to the ground if I really wanted to.

"I have no problem with them. Why?" he asked. His brows knit together again, and I couldn't help but think that it was a rather adorable action. I also instantly wondered how many other women had thought the exact same thing. Probably too many to count.

I didn't answer Rogers' question. Instead, I gave a single nod and said, "Good. Hold on to your butts."

Without any further warning, I lifted my right hand and effortlessly lifted the two men in to the air. Fury was still and calm. He'd known what was coming. Rogers hadn't. Whatever sadism lurked inside of Fury had seen to that. Fury liked his secrets sometimes, and this was one of the times we had to let him have them, even if it came at the Captain's expense. Rogers' eyes widened as his feet left the ground. He looked down, as if establishing that what he felt was real before looking back at me. To his credit, he adjusted rather quickly and his eyes narrowed back to their normal shape.

If I wanted to be honest with him, I'd have told him that I'd lifted my hand purely for his benefit. Also, it looked really cool. In actuality, I could lift a yard full of semi-trucks without so much as twitching an eyelid. All I had to do was throw out the hot tendrils of my power and lift those suckers in to the air.

Next came the really fun part. Well, it was fun for me. For others, it was a little too hot to handle. I lifted my left hand, my palm facing the ceiling, and willed those hot tendrils of power to become tangible. A ball of fire formed in my hand as Rogers watched. He did a good job of not widening his eyes again. He'd already had heaping dose of weird by this point, so nothing that I did was going to shock him for very long. But he sure as hell wasn't expecting a fire vortex to rise between him and Fury, which is exactly the weirdness that I threw at him next. I flung the fireball between them and spun it around until it had flattened itself in to a circle on the floor. With a flick of my wrist, the fire spun upwards, reaching toward the ceiling as if its only mission was to consume the shiny material above our heads. Rogers' eyes followed the vortex, the flickering flames reflecting in drowning pools of blue. With a clench of my fist, the fire vanished, leaving the floor and ceiling intact. I lowered the pair to the ground and stepped next to Fury again.

I expected quite a few things to come out of Rogers' mouth, but for some reason, I wasn't prepared for what he asked.

"Are you like Wanda?"

Just like I suspected, he was back to business after being lifted off the ground and having a flame swirl mere feet from his face. Hooray for dealing with freaky shit on a daily basis.

"Nope," I replied. "I'm what's called a mutant. Whereas Wanda and Pietro were engineered to have their powers, I was born with mine."

Rogers seemed to think about that for a moment, his eyes steady on me. I fought the urge to not squirm under his heavy gaze. Thankfully, I managed to stay still and not look away. I was a fucking secret agent. I wasn't one to squirm because a hot guy looked at me. Even if that hot guy was the sexiest man I'd ever lain eyes on. If anything, he should squirm under my gaze. Ha. Bullshit. He probably got leered at enough for him to have his anti-squirm switch permanently turned on.

"Do you have a bag packed?" he asked suddenly. At least he was to the point. I liked that in people. Be blunt and leave no room for miscommunication. It was one of my many mottos.

"No, sir. I was informed of my mission not ten minutes ago," I replied, pulling my hands behind my back in my professional stance.

"Pack what you can," Rogers told me, his eyes softening slightly. "I'm not sure how long we'll be gone. We'll leave in two hours."

"If I may, Rogers-"

"Steve," he corrected me.

I looked up at him, visibly startled. He was my superior and he wanted me to call him Steve? Yeah, I was gonna go with not calling him by his first name. It felt too personal and unprofessional for my liking. Sure, I was unprofessional as hell most of the time, but it still felt way too weird to call him by his first name.

"Rogers," I insisted, then continued, "I don't reside on base. I'll have to stop by my house in order to pack anything. I'll swing by and pick you up at nineteen hundred hours."

"Captain, you'll be going with her to her home," Fury said. "According to intel, Barnes is closer to Agent Ryan's residence than he is to us. You'd be getting a head start if you went with her."

The director sounded so reasonable, so why did I want to punch him in the leg? Oh, right. He'd just told me to take someone I didn't know to my house. And because I was that someone's bodyguard, he'd have to actually come inside of my home. I wasn't exactly thrilled, and I made sure my glare let Fury know that. He dutifully ignored me.

"Alright," Rogers said, shifting his massive shoulders backwards as he looked at me. "Let's get going."


	2. Chapter 2

(Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel, nor do I own any pop culture reference I will be making in this story. I only own Dani and her storyline.)

Chapter 2

We left Fury to walk back to his office by his one-eyed lonesome and made our way to the garage. The base was pretty big, so it was going to take us a little bit of walking to get there. We were also going to have to walk past the training room. With my luck, some douchebag was going to be in there. The training room was kind of like the douchebag water cooler. They'd go in there and beat the shit out of each other and silicon dummies all while bitching about their colleagues. They were good guys, otherwise Fury would have kicked them out on their asses, but they were still too dickish for my liking.

Rogers and I walked in relative silence, with me not knowing what the hell to say to him, and him presumably feeling the same way. What did you say to a ninety-year-old dude who'd been frozen in ice and looked like he was twenty-five and who also happened to be melt-your-socks-off sexy? Jack shit, that's what. Thankfully, Rogers broke the silence first.

"What exactly is a mutant?" he asked.

"Well, that's an icebreaker if I've ever heard one," I smirked.

I spared a glance up at him and found him giving me another one of those slightly confused looks. It quickly melted away in to humor as he realized I was trying to make a joke.

I took a deep breath and started the lesson. "A mutant is basically the next step in human evolution. You know, _Homo erectus_ , _Homo sapiens_ , _Homo superior_. Something in our genes altered along the way to give us certain powers. Most mutants have unique powers or unique power combinations, and there are varying degrees of how powerful any one mutant is."

"How powerful are you?" he asked.

I couldn't help myself. I flashed him a wicked smirk that held all of the mischievous ideas I'd ever thought of and replied, "Extremely. To my knowledge, there's only one other mutant who is as strong as I am, and she has a cosmic force in her head half the time."

"What cosmic force are you talking about, Ryan?" a voice asked.

My eyes slipped away from Rogers to look at the man standing in front of us. He was about five foot eight with light blonde hair and whiskey colored eyes. A black t-shirt was stretched tight over a tanned torso and black basketball shorts swung loose around his thighs. White socks and black tennis shoes completed the outfit. He was muscular, though nowhere near as muscular as Captain Rogers. There was a thin sheen of sweat on that tanned skin of his. It was the kind of tan you got from having good genes and time to lay in the sun. He was a handsome guy, but alas, he was one of the douchebags. His name was Dirk Tannen, which I thought was almost as bad as Biff Tannen. His parents must've hated him from the get-go. Maybe that was why he was a douchebag.

"The one that torments me by not firing you, Tannen," I replied.

"Aww. And I here I thought you were talking about my dick," Tannen sighed.

Yep. Douchebag. I felt Rogers tense beside me. He moved forward toward Tannen as if he would give the shorter man an old-fashioned lesson in how to treat ladies. Lucky for Tannen, I wasn't a lady and I could sure as hell take care of myself so he wasn't going to be getting a beating from Rogers today. Maybe tomorrow. I grabbed Roger's bicep to hold him back and stepped forward in his place. It took me a moment to adjust my senses after feeling the hard muscle tense under soft, warm skin, but I managed to quickly regain my equilibrium. Holy shit, Rogers was built like a brick shithouse.

"Your dick isn't cosmic, Tannen. Comic, definitely. But cosmic, no. I doubt the Andromeda Galaxy is looking at your dick going 'Oh, wow. I wish I was as big as that!' No, if anything, it's looking at your dick and laughing because even atoms aren't that small," I shot back.

Tannen took a step back as if I'd hit him and put a mocking hand to his chest.

"Ow, Ryan. That hurt. I was just having a little fun," he said, his whiskey brown eyes growing wide with fake innocence.

"So was I," I replied. I gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, the kind that was so obviously fake that even the astronauts on the International Space Station could see how false it was.

"We could have a lot more fun if you just had sex with me," Tannen said, a wicked smirk playing across his lips.

"Oh, sweetie," I sighed. My smile turned in to the kind of frown that a disappointed, sympathetic mother would give her idiot child. "That wouldn't be fun. That'd be a form of torture so bad that it would make Guantanamo Bay look like Disney Land."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," Tannen said, a small frown pulling down at the edges of his smirk. I was getting to him. Yay, me!

"If I tried it, I'd need psychological counseling for the rest of my life. Give it up, Tannen. I'm not having sex with you. I have high standards, and you're so low that you're not even a blip on my radar," I said.

He stared at me with a mixture of shock and affront, and I gave him a sympathetic shrug, as if I felt sorry for him. I didn't. He'd been trying to get in to my pants since the moment we'd first met. He was a notorious ladies man, which didn't help him in my eyes, and the fact that he didn't seem to understand rejection just made me dislike him even more.

"Alright. Alright," Tannen frowned. "You've made your point."

I blinked at him, my eyes wide and innocent, as if I hadn't just told him he was the lowest of the low. A small, slightly evil smile curved my lips.

"Good. Now you can stop hitting on me and I won't feel the need to stab you. Go train, Tannen. From what I hear, your roundhouses are as sloppy as your sex game."

Tannen scuttled off with his invisible tail between his legs, leaving me alone with Rogers once again. I turned to look at my newest charge and found him staring at me, his massive arms folded across his chest. Great. This was going to get awkward.

"Do you do that a lot?" he asked, his eyebrows pinching together.

"Do what? Belittle coworkers or turn down offers for sex?" I asked.

The tension in his faced eased with a flash of surprise, and he loosed the tightness of his arms across his pecs. Nice to know that I could still surprise him. Well, I'd just met him, but still, it felt good to surprise a guy who'd fought in World War II and countless other battles.

"Both," he said.

"I do the first when I'm fed up with someone. I do the second all the time. Tannen deserved way worse, though, trust me. He's been itching to get in my pants for four months now." I replied.

"Why haven't you reported him?" Rogers asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Because I can handle him by myself. Blows to his ego will hurt him way worse than anything our superiors could do to him, so I knock him down to size whenever he needs it," I replied. "And he needs it a lot."

Rogers gave me a look of disapproval. He obviously didn't like my tactic of knocking someone off of their pedestal when I should have been reporting them to the higher-ups for disciplinary action. Tough titty. I looked up at him, my eyes as blank and unfeeling as a shark's. A lot of people flinched away from that look, and I gave Rogers credit for not being one of them. His disapproval did falter ever so slightly, though. You can't argue with a wall, after all.

He took a deep breath and let it out in almost a sigh, making the buttons on his shirt strain. I was going to need to wear protective goggles if he was going to keep wearing button-downs. I was started to get scared that a button might pop off and blind me.

"If you think that reporting him won't help, then I guess I can understand that," Rogers said.

Gods help him, he was a shitty liar. His disapproval hadn't diminished that much, so I could tell he was just being nice to his newly appointed bodyguard. His shoulders were tense, and something in his face, behind his eyes, said that he didn't quite believe what he was saying. He was trying, though, and I gave him some more credit for that. Hell, it even made me smile a little.

"You don't have to lie, Rogers," I said, giving him a small smile. "You're not good at it. You're apprehensive, and you have every right to be. You got thrown in with one of the freaks without even being asked about it or given any information about who you were working with. You have to build trust with me, and no amount of anyone telling you how trustworthy I am is going to make you trust me. I get that. And now you're trying to work around my skewed moral compass, which doesn't help with the whole trust thing. I get it, and it's okay."

"You're not a freak," Rogers said the moment I paused.

Nothing in his face wavered. He was telling me what he thought was the truth. What was more, he'd gone out of his way to tell me what he thought was the truth. His moral compass pointed as due north as humanly possible, and it was actually kind of sweet, especially when it urged him to spout stuff like that. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that his moral compass would get him killed, no matter how sweet it was. It almost had gotten him killed. Several times. Was Fury right? Did Rogers need other people? Did Rogers need to work with someone who had a skewed moral compass in order to stay alive? He'd already made a name for himself in the Self-Sacrificing Heroes Club, so did he need someone to give him other options? Goddamit, was Fury right? Again?! I hated it when that happened! Of course, he was the Director, so he had to be right most of the time, or he would suck at his job.

"And thank you," he added, "for understanding. You're right. I don't trust you. What just happened with Tannen…I'm not comfortable with it. You should let your boss take care of people like that, and I'm not sure how I feel about you tearing down someone's ego."

I gave him a lopsided smile and said, "I know. You'll figure out how you feel soon, though, and then you can decide if you trust me or not."

I spared a glance at the training room, looking to see if anyone was going to come out and bug us again. I wasn't in the mood to have my new good-ish mood spoiled by another pissing contest. No one came out. Good. I looked back at Rogers, my lopsided smile turning in to a full blown, good-natured grin.

"For the record, I'm definitely a freak. Just not in the way you're thinking. Also for the record, I will do anything to protect you and I aim to prove that to you."

A question flashed in Rogers' eyes the second before it spilled out of his mouth. Curiosity killed the Captain. Or made him rethink getting in a car with me, at least.

"How are you a freak, then?"

"Hang out with me long enough and you'll find out. More than half of it will go way over your head, but you'll get it eventually. Cryptic as fuck, I know, but it's hard to explain my freaky when you know jack shit about the last seventy years of pop culture," I explained.

"Do you always curse this much?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to set up a fake ambush to prove you'll protect me?"

The question was so abrupt that it made me laugh. I shook my head and looked down to put the back of my hand over my mouth. Don't laugh at the Captain. Oooh, don't laugh at him. He probably had a good reason for asking, but goddamn if it wasn't funny. When I looked back up at him, a hint of humor flashed behind his eyes, as if he were trying to not smile at my sudden laughing fit. Laughter was contagious even to the super-humans. Yay. Behind the humor was a tiny bit of confusion, probably at why I'd started laughing in the first place, but it passed like a cloud on a windy day.

"No. I'm not _that_ gung ho to prove my loyalty to you," I said once I could speak without giggling. "I'll just kick ass when ass shows up to get kicked. C'mon. We're wasting time. You already got some bags packed?"

"Yeah," Rogers confirmed.

"Then let's get this show on the road," I said, whirling around to make my way to the car port.

"You mean this freak show," Rogers corrected.

Oh, I liked him already. Hopefully, we'd get along this well the entire time. I'd had charges start out great, but by the end of my bodyguarding duty they'd turned in to massive dickwads. I guess being in constant fear could do that to a person.


	3. Chapter 3

(Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel, nor do I own any pop culture reference I will be making in this story. I only own Dani and her storyline.)

Chapter 3

Rogers had had two bags in a locker in the mens' changing room. I had no idea how long the bags had been there, or what they contained, but damned if he wasn't ready and raring to go. He'd tossed both bags in to the back seat of the nondescript black SUV that we were going to be sharing while another agent had given me my own bag filled with goodies from Fury. I couldn't wait to find out what he'd given me. I was still in my work uniform, which was a black catsuit with a zipper down the front and a belt that held numerous dangerous weapons. If I'd been thinking, I'd have changed clothes before leaving, but I hated the changing rooms with a fiery passion. I don't care what some people say, bad experiences in school will fuck you up for life. Physical education and changing clothes in locker rooms had been my bad experience. Well, one of many bad experiences.

We'd hit the road as soon as possible and were on my way to my apartment. I lived in a more rural area of New York State so I didn't have to pay out of the ass for a single bedroom apartment in the big city. It also put me closer to the base. Less travel time meant less gas which meant more money for me. Yippee.

I actually lived in Lake George. It was a relatively small town of about four thousand people, and it was kind of a tourist trap, what with Fort Ticonderoga being right at the end of the lake and all. It was also extremely close to Saratoga Springs, an even smaller town where a Revolutionary War battle had taken place centuries before. I was happy to live there, surrounded by beautiful trees and mountains and living in an affordable apartment. I wasn't much of a city girl, and had really hated it when S.H.I.E.L.D. had been based out of big cities. That was one plus side to the Hydra infestation, I guessed: I could finally be in my element and not surrounded by smog and a never-ending parade of morons. Yes, the parade of morons had definitely lessened in length since I'd moved. Oh, happy day.

I parked in front of my brick apartment building and got out of the car. Rogers got out as well and followed my lead in taking our bags out of the back. I may have lived in a small town, but I didn't trust anyone to not snatch stuff out of my car. Me? Paranoid? Oh, yeah.

I opened the front door for Rogers, seeing as how I had the key, and let him go inside ahead of me. That was a bit of an oversight, seeing as how I was going to have to squeeze past him in order to get to the stairs. The hallways were just big enough to maneuver couches through, but passing larger folks was always a bit of a struggle. You had to hug the wall if you wanted to get anywhere. Looked like I was going to be doing some wall hugging.

I clutched my bag to my chest and muttered an apology as I slipped by Rogers and headed up the stairs.

"Which floor do you live on?" he asked. When I looked back at him, he was staring up at the ceiling like he could see through to the roof.

"Fifth floor," I said.

I led the way up the stairs until we reached the fifth floor. My apartment was in the back right corner of the building on the right side of the hall. The view from my limited number of windows consisted of an alleyway, a fire escape, and the tops of tourist shops. I'd handpicked this apartment for the sole reason that it was extremely difficult to shoot at me without renting some sort of hovercraft. Let's hear it for paranoia. Once we reached my apartment, I unlocked the door and motioned for Rogers to go inside.

It was a small, one bedroom apartment with grotesque white walls that I'd been dying to paint ever since I'd moved in. I'd done the best I could with decorating, but I wasn't exactly Martha Stewart. A black couch with dark red pillows sat in the middle of my small living room across from a small flat screen television. The television and DVD player were propped up on short dark wood entertainment center. A matching dark wood coffee table sat in between the television and the couch, and was loaded down with entertainment magazines that I hadn't gotten around to throwing away. A kitchenette was off to the right of the door, and had the essentials: a coffee maker, a sink, a fridge, a stove, minimal counter space, and a few cabinets and drawers. A semi-fancy dark wood shelving unit, complete with three drawers at the bottom, was pressed against the wall next to the kitchenette. It was covered in assorted knick-knacks that I'd collected over the years. The drawers were filled with books and DVD's. I'd purchased some framed paintings to give the walls the pop of color that they would never have otherwise had. They were mostly abstract, with bright colors that contrasted and complimented the décor beautifully. Okay, so many I was Martha Stewart, but something told me she wouldn't have chosen all abstract paintings. Oh well.

My room was the only part of the apartment that wasn't fancy in the least. That was okay, though, because it was my safe haven, and my safe haven wasn't meant for casual guests like the rest of my apartment was. It was covered from floor to ceiling in pop culture memorabilia that would make most geeks pass out from sheer excitement. My queen-sized bed followed the same theme as the couch, only my comforter was dark red, and my sheets and pillows were black. Shelves adorned the walls, and were stocked full of assorted geekery. Signed framed autographs took up the rest of the space on the walls that the shelves didn't, a lightsaber was propped in one corner of the room, and countless other nerdy props were scattered about. Unfortunately, I didn't have room for a bookshelf, so the tops of my nightstands were hidden by mounds of novels. Only the top of one bedside lamp was visible on the table on the right side of the bed because the book were piled so high. If I hadn't sprung for quality furniture, the nightstands would have broken in half by now. A small closet was nestled in to the right wall.

The bathroom was on the left side of the bedroom, and wasn't decorated at all. Okay, so I had two rooms that weren't fancy. I'd kept it simple, with plain black towels and accessories, and a white shower curtain to hide the shower/tub. It was gleaming with clean white tiles, which I'd had to bleach to hell to get so spotless. My landlord loved me now because she thought I'd done the impossible with that bathroom. My landlord loved me a little too much, though, even for cleaning that bathroom. She was an older, slightly rotund woman with curly, greying hair down to her shoulders and big grey eyes, and she'd sort of taken it upon herself to be my surrogate grandmother, whether I'd liked it or not. I didn't really have room to bitch, seeing as how she'd feed me when I came home late from work, but her nagging at me needing a boyfriend had gotten real old, real fast. I'd let her known that. She hadn't cared what I'd thought. Now I wondered what she'd think if she saw Captain Rogers walking out of my apartment. If she drew her own conclusions, I'd never hear the end of it. I'd have to move.

"Have a seat," I said as I closed and locked the door behind us. Rogers simply stood in the middle of the too-large living room and looked around. I mumbled "Or not."

I moved past him to my bedroom, leaving the door open behind me so I could keep him in my line of sight. My windows were covered with black-out curtains that kept the sun out but also kept people from seeing in to my apartment. You never could tell how crafty assassins would get. They might rent out a firetruck and use the ladder for stake outs just to spite the good guys, seeing as hovercrafts were too conspicuous. Maybe there was such a thing as too paranoid, but if there was, I didn't much care to know about it. Regardless of how paranoid I was, we were in complete privacy. The moment I realized that, I started to feel awkward. I felt even more awkward having my bedroom door open and having my stuff on display.

I made quick work of grabbing clothes and weapons, and soon had two small duffel bags filled with items. I'd thrown in a dress, a red wig, and a pair of sensible heels for if we had to do some undercover type of work, as well as several holsters that would work with the fancy outfit. I wasn't really expecting to use them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"These are interesting," I heard Rogers say from my living room.

I finished zipping up the bags, picked them up, and headed for the living room. Rogers was standing in front of the shelving unit staring at several clay figurines. Large, pale fingers played over the blue, opalescent tail of a mermaid. The skin was painted a mocha color, so lifelike that you'd think it'd be warm to the touch. Real hair, dark and curly with golden highlights, modestly hid small breasts. A seaweed crown woven with pearls and shells sat atop the mermaid's head. Impossibly green eyes stared out of a round, beautiful face.

Beside her was a handmade phoenix. The clay was a mix of different shades of orange, red, and yellow, and wasn't at all painted. It was meant to be more cutesy than realistic. The black beak screeched a cry to the ceiling, multihued wings spread open as if the bird were about to take flight. Five long, thin clay tail feathers curled around its feet. There were a couple more figures like those two scattered around the shelving unit, but those were the two that Rogers seemed to be focusing on. Lucky for me, it seemed that he'd bypassed looking in to my room. But of course, he would do that. Moral compass and all.

I set the bags down on my couch and stood next to the first Avenger. My arms crossed over my stomach as I, too, studied the figurines.

When I didn't say anything, Rogers added, "They're beautiful. Where'd you get them?"

"My sister made them for me," I stated, my eyes staying on the figurines. "She was an art major, and those were some of her birthday gifts to me."

"She's talented," Rogers said.

I could feel the weight of his gaze on the side of my face. I looked up and found him giving me a genuine smile. Man, he really was a nice guy. It was almost unnerving. It said something about the people I hung out with that I found kindness to be unnerving. Anyway, he was being nice, so I figured I could return the favor. I was a nice person. Sometimes.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. "She'd flip her shit if she heard that coming from you."

His smile faltered and went from genuine to polite. Something told me he wasn't exactly happy about his celebrity status. Call it a hunch.

"Is she a um…a fan?" he asked, seemingly struggling for a second to find the right word.

"Not necessarily," I shrugged. "You're just kind of world-famous, and she flips shit when even local talents give her compliments on her work. She feels like she's that much closer to getting her big break when stuff like that happens."

"She shouldn't be too far from her big break if all of her art is this good," Rogers said.

He motioned toward the figurines as he spoke and offered me another genuine smile. I nodded and smiled back, not entirely sure what to say. I went for the appreciative-agreeing route, as it seemed like the best option.

"Yeah, she'll get there someday," I said. "Thanks, again."

"You're welcome."

I moved away from him, my arms still folded over my stomach. I forced them to my sides as I moved in to the kitchen. Open body language was the key to getting him to get along with me. Or, one of the keys, at least. He wouldn't trust me if I seemed closed off.

I didn't have much time to ponder on how to get Rogers to trust me more because a rapid knock sounded at my front door. My hand instantly went to the gun on my belt in a knee jerk reaction that showed exactly how uncomfortable I was. My head swiveled to make sure that Rogers was okay, and I found that he, too, looked like he was ready to take on whoever was at the door. We didn't have to wait long to find out who it was. A soprano voice, thick with worry, called through the wood.

"Dani? Dani, are you in there? Are you alright, dear?"

"Shit," I whispered.

As quietly as I could, I padded over to the door and looked through the peephole. It was my landlord. Thankfully, it didn't look like anyone was with her. Just as silently, I moved back toward Rogers, removing my hand from my weapon as I walked. The tension eased out of his body bit by bit when he saw that I was no longer ready to fire at will and asked with his eyes who was at the door.

"We're dating," I whispered as I came to stand in front of him.

His blue eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

"Please, just do me a favor and pretend that we're dating. I will owe you big time, just please do this for me. Help me get her off of my back," I said. "I'll explain later, I promise, just please, help me out here."

I don't know if it was the please or the fact that I probably looked like a drowning woman in desperate need of help, but after a couple of heartbeats, he nodded.

"Okay," he said.

A giant grin blossomed on my face and I had to fight from bouncing on my toes from sheer delight. My hands reached forward to touch either side of his hard waist and I aimed that sock-melting grin at him. I could have sworn I'd seen his eyes widen a little bit more. I didn't blame him. I'd gone from closed off to giddy in two minutes flat, and all it took was him pretending to date me. If he'd known the whole story, he wouldn't have been surprised at all.

"I cannot thank you enough for this," I said.

"Dani?!" The voice came a bit more frantic now, the knocking slowly turning in to a panicked pounding.

"I'll be right there," I called over my shoulder. To Rogers, I said, "I'll do as much of the talking as possible. Try to stick to at least half-truths when you talk because you're a terrible liar. It's adorable and admirable, but it doesn't really help." I thought about what I said for a second, figured it was rude, then added, "Sorry," before going to open the door.

My hand went to my gun, just in case, and I unlocked the door. I swung it open a little to make sure she was alone. She was. Thank the gods. My hand moved away from my gun and I stepped back from the door to let her in.

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Ferdinand," I said as my landlord entered the living room.

"I've told you, call me Marcia," she said, her plump hand gently resting on my upper arm.

"Of course. Sorry, Marcia. You know how I forget sometimes," I replied with an apologetic smile.

"With how much you work, dear, I don't blame you at all for forgetting," Marcia said.

She patted my arm and turned to walk in to my apartment. Just as I'd closed the door and locked it again, she'd stopped in her tracks. She was staring up at Rogers with a massive grin on her face. If she wasn't careful, her lips would touch her ears.

"And who is this?" she asked, her sweet voice gaining a little lilt and a lot of curiosity.

"Marcia Ferdinand, "I said, taking her elbow and gently pulling her forward, "this is my boyfriend Steve. Steve, this is Marcia, my landlord turned honorary grandmother."

He stepped forward and held out a hand to Marcia. She graciously took it and exchanged little glances between me and him. I stepped next to Rogers to make it easier for her. I didn't want her hurting her neck.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Ferdinand," he said, a charming smile gracing his lips.

"Marcia, please," she insisted. "It's nice to meet you too, Steve. Dani hasn't told me she's had any gentleman suitors."

"We've been trying to keep it under wraps for now," I explained. My hand went to his bicep in as loving a gesture as I could manage. He pulled his hand away from Marcia and smiled down at me. Wow, he was better at selling this than I was. I owed him a huge favor.

"Are you a cop, too?" Marcia asked Rogers. "Do they make you wear those ridiculous new uniforms, too?"

She motioned toward my catsuit, which was completely impractical, especially if I had to pee. I didn't blame her for thinking the uniform was ridiculous. I did blame her for being naïve enough to think that it was a cop uniform, even if I had told her it was for a special forces unit. But hey, as long as she believed me, she wouldn't be in danger. In the end, it all worked out.

He looked at her, eyes filled with good cheer as she moaned about the impracticality of my uniform. Maybe he was a better liar than I thought. I needed to start giving him more credit.

"I'm military, actually," he replied.

"Oh," she said, as if that explained everything. "My husband was in the military. He was the same way. 'We have to keep it a secret for now, Marcia. Our families won't like this, Marcia. My military career is just starting, Marcia.' I felt like I was on the Brady Bunch!"

She let out a laugh at her own joke and I laughed with her. Poor Rogers didn't get it, so he didn't laugh. I knocked my ankle against his and he got the hint to fake it like a porn star. Well, maybe not like a porn star, but he knew that he had to at least fake it. He laughed, too, and it didn't sound too forced.

"Yeah, we're just getting a feel for it for now, and then we'll let everyone know. Please keep this just between us, Marcia," I said, laughter still glinting in my eyes. "Don't even tell Bruce yet. I really don't want to jinx a good thing."

"I understand, dear. I won't tell a soul," she said. She sliced her hand through the air is if she were getting ready to make a solemn vow on her honor.

"Thank you," I said. I smiled and rested my head on Rogers' shoulder, playing the part of the loving girlfriend with everything I had. It wasn't too intimate a gesture, or at least I hoped it wasn't. I really didn't want to get too intimate with Rogers after knowing him for less than two hours. Hell, I was surprised he'd even agreed to do this for me seeing as he didn't know me from Adam.

Marcia's eyes scanned the room like they usually did. It was her way of trying to make sure everything was up to code. I didn't know if she did it just to me or if she did it to everyone, but I appreciated the effort on her part. It did make me slightly paranoid, like she was casing my apartment, but she hadn't sprung any traps on me yet, so I tried to not think too much of it. Tried was the main word there. Her eyes settled on the bags on the floor and couch.

"Are you going somewhere? Is that why you're home early? I was so worried when I saw your car out front so early in the day. I'd thought something was wrong," she blabbered.

"I'm okay, Marcia," I said, cutting her off. "We're actually going on vacation and I had to come home early to pack."

"Oh, good. Where are you two lovebirds off to?"

"We're taking a road trip to Tennessee. It's lovely there this time of year and I wanted to show Steve Cades Cove. He's a huge history buff."

"Oh, really?" Marcia asked, her grey eyes lighting up in her wrinkled face. "What era do you study most?"

"Pre-World War II America," Rogers answered.

"That is a fascinating time period," Marcia said. "I used to love those nineteen twenties flapper dresses when I was younger. All of the beads made them look so elegant. Do you know much about the prohibition?"

I moved forward then. We were wasting more valuable time and I wasn't sure how long I could ask Rogers to do this. It wasn't fair to subject him to and overbearing grandmother figure who desperately wanted her adopted grandkid to get hitched. My hands went to Marcia's shoulders and I carefully turned her toward the door.

"Now, now. Don't load the new boyfriend down with questions, Marcia. You'll scare him away," I teased. I threw a glance over my shoulder at Rogers, one that held all sorts of heat, passion, and newly blossoming love before turning that same look on to Marcia. "And I really like this one. A lot."

"Of course. How rude of me. I'll leave you two alone to get ready for your trip," she said. She turned out of my hands as she unlocked the door. "It was nice to meet you, Steve. You have a wonderful young woman on your hands here."

She exited my apartment and stood in front of the doorway as I slid the door closed.

"I want an invitation to the wedding," she said through the narrowing crack.

I gave her a warm, yet slightly annoyed smile that told her she knew better and said, "Goodbye, Marcia."

The door clicked closed and I locked it once again. I stood by the door, holding my breath as I waited for her footsteps to recede. When she was far enough away, I slumped against the door and let out a heavy sigh.

"I owe you, big time," I said without turning around. "You just saved me at least six months of nagging."

"Find Bucky and we'll call it even," Rogers said from behind me.

I turned to stare at him. Me finding his missing best friend was akin to him helping me get an old woman off of my back? Somehow I seriously doubted that.

"Something tells me I'll owe you after I find him," I said, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. The next thought I had came spilling from my mouth without running it past my brain first. "Why'd you agree to help me?"

Great, Dani. Question his reasons for doing good things. That'll make him like you more, and it definitely won't make him question whether or not to help you in the future. Moron. Rogers just looked at me and shrugged his massive shoulders.

"You needed help, and I was here to help you. It's what I do. It's what I've always done," he replied.

"Ah. Ask a stupid question," I said.

I stood there at my door, staring up at him and suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. That was happening a lot with him round. Had I really just asked him to do that for me? Had I really played the cutesy girlfriend? Had I actually kind of liked it a little? Unfortunately, yes to all of the above. Rogers must have felt that awkwardness too because he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His hands went to his belt as his eyes looked over the rest of my apartment.

"Right. Now that things are officially awkward, how about we hit the road and awkwardly sit in a car for…however long we'll be sitting in a car for?" I said, pushing away from the door.

"That sounds like a good plan. The sooner we find Bucky, the sooner you can start searching for a real boyfriend," Rogers said.

The last was said with a bit of a smirk. He was messing with me. Good to know I hadn't completely fucked stuff up. I usually did that. Or, I thought I usually did that. Some people didn't seem to agree with me. They were biased.

"Nah," I said, scooping down to grab my bags. When I straightened, I looked him right in his baby blues. "Most men can't handle me. You can only be so blunt with someone before they get pissed and leave. Can you do me another favor and drive? I have to check my Fabulous Fury Goodie Bag and see what toys I got."

"Sure," Rogers said.

He held out his hands for the car keys as he picked up his own bags. With my arms loaded down, it took me a moment to fish the keys from my pocket. Silly me, I gave him my house keys with the car keys. I quickly snatched them from his hand and shoved them back in my pocket.

"Thank goodness. I don't think we've been dating long enough for that," Rogers quipped.

"Says you. We're going to Tennessee together. Might as well put a ring on it and walk me over the threshold now," I teased back.

Rogers laughed and shook his head, as if he couldn't believe his ears. Or maybe couldn't believe me. He couldn't believe something. I gave him another one of my sock-melting smiles, the kind that lit up my entire face and made my eyes glitter with humor. It was lost on him, because he stood with his back turned to me, which I thought was an incredibly trusting move. Then again, with my powers, I could just as easily fuck him up if he were facing me. He was a smart man, and I think he knew that. Or he just trusted me. I was hoping it was a bit of both.

I unlocked the door to my apartment, shut off the lights, and we were off.


	4. Chapter 4

(Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel, nor do I own any pop culture reference I will be making in this story. I only own Dani and her storyline.)

Chapter 4

I sat in the passenger seat of the SUV with the open bag from Fury on my lap. As soon as I'd buckled up in the car, I'd regretted, once again, that I hadn't changed my clothes. I was easily side tracked when it came to missions, so much so that sometimes I forgot to eat. Here's hoping that wouldn't happen this time around. I was going to need energy if I was going to be protecting Captain Rogers, and coffee could only get you so far.

In the bag was a laptop, several flash drives, and six throwaway cellphones. I had to admit, I was disappointed. I'd been expecting way more than that. Of course, this was all I really needed. I couldn't very well take the entire base with all of its technology with me, and I didn't really need to. The laptop held the base's data within it, and I was betting that the flash drives were rife with files on Barnes and his last known location. However, it still sucked that this was all I got. I was kind of hoping for at least a couple of grenades.

"Where was Barnes last seen?" I asked Rogers.

I opened the laptop and powered it on. I was going to get the information either way, but it seemed better to talk to the charge I'd just been teasing rather than sit there in silence. Plus, it just seemed more polite. Including people in their own mission was polite, right? Right.

"Pittsburg," he said. "Sam said a convenience store camera caught him buying food."

"That's sloppy of him. Not to mention unhealthy."

"Maybe he's ready to be found," Rogers said, hope clear in his voice.

The computer was already preprogramed with my information, so I logged in and started testing out the flash drives.

"If that's true, he should be popping up more. I'll do a facial recognition scan of the cameras in the area and see if he shows up again," I said.

One flashdrive had a file on Rogers. I clicked it. I had to know who I was dealing with, and these were military records from way back when. I had everything on Rogers, from how many times he'd been rejected from the military to what diseases he'd had to who his parents had been. Turns out they were Irish immigrants. No wonder I thought he was hot. I had a thing for Irish people. Plus, he was just straight up sexy. It looked like someone had typed in even more information on Rogers, like previous possible girlfriends. It didn't seem entirely relevant to me, but someone had thought it was important, and they'd even gone out of their way to hide the file within other files. I thought that last part was a bit odd. There was a classified file in every classified file, and I had access to it all. That part made me happy, at least. Maybe I could show Rogers my file. Maybe I could flay my own skin off. It'd suck just as much, either way.

I also had how old Rogers was when he'd been given the super soldier serum. He was…oh, my gods, he had been twenty-one. By now, if I discounted how long he'd been trapped in ice, he was probably about twenty-seven. He was my age. If we were counting how long he'd been a human icicle, he was ninety-seven. He looked damn good for an old guy.

"You can do that?" he asked.

"You've met Tony Stark, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He gave me a quick glance that let me know how stupid of a question that was, but that he got my point. Stark could build a life size replica of someone from surveillance footage, and here Rogers was asking me if I was able to do a simple recognition scan.

I clicked away from Rogers' file to set up the scan and made sure that I went citywide. If Barnes was out there and wanted to be seen, we'd get another hit soon enough. We might even get another hit while we were still in the car. That would be absolutely fantastic. Once I was sure the scan was working and I had my alert sounds turned on and up, I went back to the files. Barnes was up next. He and Rogers had been friends since they were young children, apparently. I was betting that Rogers had given them that bit of information. Barnes had joined the military before Rogers had, which wasn't surprising seeing as how he was an able bodied young man with minimal physical or mental issues. Hell, Rogers hadn't technically joined the military until after he'd been made in to a super soldier, and even then he'd been relegated to a traveling show. It wasn't until a year later, when Barnes' unit had been attacked and Barnes had gone missing that Rogers had gone on his first mission.

"How long have you been working for Fury?" Rogers asked suddenly.

"Um…" I said, my eyes not moving away from the screen, "since I was twenty. I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. before it went to shit."

"You started earlier than I did," he said.

"Yeah, well, it was either go there or….other places," I said.

"Other places?"

"Can't talk about it, Rogers. It's more classified than you are," I replied.

I didn't even want to think about what I'd almost said. Sure, he knew I was a mutant, but he didn't need to know how bad we mutants actually had it. That we had to hide away from the world at a school for years, if not our entire lives. The school had been attacked before, but even their newest defenses weren't up to having Rogers sicked on them. And I wouldn't put it above our government to do just that, and what was worse, they probably wouldn't tell Rogers the truth about who he was attacking. Yep, turns out I was paranoid about more than just my own life. Wonderful.

"You can call me Steve," Rogers said.

I looked up at him then. He was still visibly curious about what I was holding back, but like any good soldier, he'd dropped it as soon as the C-word came out. Thankfully, his eyes were intent on the road ahead of us.

"No, I can't," I said.

"Why not?"

"It's too personal. Too unprofessional. Too….friendly," I explained. "I'm not supposed to get friendly with my charges."

"So we're not going on that trip to Tennessee, then?" he asked, taking his eyes off of the road for a split second to give me a smirk.

I couldn't help it. I smiled back. "Oh, we're still going, but I'll be calling you Rogers the entire time."

"What can I do to get you to use my first name?" he asked.

I was starting to understand that I was being too professional for him. Even though I'd had him fake being my sweetie, I was being too unprofessional by not using his first name. Or maybe he actually did want to be friendly with me. He seemed like the type of guy who would be friends with anyone. Should I give in to him and just use his first name, or go with my natural professional instinct to keep everything strictly business? I don't know why it was such a big deal to me, but it was. It felt like if I used his first name, we'd get too buddy-buddy and things would just…happen. Sexy things that ruined a good working environment when those sexy things went to hell in a bloody handbasket. I'd had that happen before. Oh, look! I'd found the reason I was apprehensive. Therapists the world over were rejoicing.

"Put a ring on it and I'll call you by your first name," I replied, turning back to the computer screen.

"Give me your hand," he said.

There was no way in hell that man had a ring on him. I looked up at him, surprise and apprehension so clear on my face that he could have read me like a book from across a room.

"What? No," I said, leaning into the passenger side door. My face had shifted from surprise to making sure he knew I thought he was flat out crazy.

One large hand let go of the steering wheel and extended toward me while his eyes stayed on the road.

"Come on. Give me your hand," he said again. He moved his fingers in that "hand it over" motion you gave to petulant children and friends.

With a sigh, I relented, placing my small, pale hand in his much larger, slightly tanner one. His hand was warm and slightly sweaty from holding on to the steering wheel, and it was as impressively solid as the rest of him. I'd only touched him a handful of times, but I don't think I'd ever be able to get over just how solid he was, even if I got to touch him all day, every day.

He flipped my hand in his until my thumb was pointing toward the roof of the car. I wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing, but I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough. Why waste words when you didn't have to? He moved my hand toward the steering wheel, and I saw him flick his eyes down so he could make sure he was leading me to the right place. That place happened to be the ignition and the keys therein. He slid my ring finger in to the key ring and let me go.

"There. I put a ring on it. Now call me Steve," he said.

I had to give him points for not sounding smug, and I had to give me points for not slugging his leg as I pulled my hand back. It took me trying to open my mouth to speak to find that my jaw had dropped. I was honestly surprised that my chin wasn't scraping pavement.

"You sneaky fucker," I said, my eyes wide and locked on his profile.

He smiled then, but didn't look at me. "You never said what kind of ring it had to be."

"Goddammit. You're supposed to be a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin," I griped.

The smile faltered and turned in to a confused frown. "What?" he asked.

Shit. Right. He'd only had a few years to catch up on seventy years of pop culture. Eh, I'd educate him later.

"Simple, non-nerdy terms, you're supposed to be courageous, not cunning," I replied.

"Why can't I be both?" he asked.

"You can, but…shit, I really can't explain it until you've seen the movies or read the books," I sighed.

"Try."

I sighed. "Um…Gryffindors are generally courageous, brave, the first ones to stand up to someone or say something. They kind of just charge in with no regard for their own safety. Slytherins don't charge in. They sneak in. They'll stand up to someone or say something, but only if they think they can win, and they'll more than likely twist words around and follow logic loopholes to take down their opponent. They're kind of two sides of the same coin. Gryffindor is the reckless soldier that flies in guns blazing while Slytherin is the soldier that plans the attack and compensates for everything that could go wrong. I really hope that was an accurate enough description."

"So I can't be the reckless soldier that goes in guns blazing after I've planned everything out?" he asked.

"Technically, yes, but that would still make you a Slytherin, by the aforementioned standards, because the recklessness would have been planned. You could be the reckless soldier that deviated from the plan because of unforeseen complications, like hostages, but you couldn't be the reckless soldier that created the plan because planning implies that you're not reckless," I explained.

"So, what am I then?" he asked.

"You're a Gryffindor, even with that sneaky Slytherin shit you just pulled. You go flying in by the seat of your pants with some sort of plan in place, but you'll easily deviate from that plan for numerous reasons."

"You sound very sure of yourself," he said with a smile.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I read your file."

He looked at me then, holding my gaze for a full second before turning back to the road. I think my sudden, blatant honesty had surprised him. Well, he was in for a long trip full of surprises if that was the case.

"You read my file," he repeated. "How much is in that file?"

"A lot. I have everything from information on your parents to details of how you rescued Barnes and four hundred other men and every other mission you went on. On your missions, you always had a plan in place but you also always deviated from that plan if you felt you needed to," I stated.

He was silent for a few long minutes. I let him sit and reflect in the truth of my words while I wondered if he'd ask to see my file. If he did, I wouldn't be able to refuse him. It wouldn't be fair. Plus I was actively trying to build trust between us, and if I kept my file hidden away while I knew everything about him, it would seem mighty suspicious. I really didn't want him to read my file, though.

"Is there that much in your file?" he asked, finally breaking the silence and fulfilling my fear.

"Yes," I replied.

"Can I see it?" he asked.

I sighed. He was being polite about it, at least. Almost anyone else would have demanded to see the file. I raked a hand through my hair and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can see it. Once we hit a stopping point, I'll pull it up. Just…don't judge me too harshly, alright?"

"Why would I judge you?" he asked, flicking his eyes to me.

"Because I've done some fucked up things," I replied matter-of-factly.

"We all have," Rogers, oh, sorry, Steve said.

"True."

Another truth was that I wasn't proud of the things I'd done, but I was proud of them. At my heart, I was a compassionate being, but if I was pushed too hard, I lost my soul and any form of conscience I may have had. I'd done things that had scared my colleagues so much that they'd requested to be transferred. I could become a cold-blooded killer at the flick of a switch, and that was scary, even to me. I doubted Steve, with his perfect moral compass, would be able to trust me with so much as handing him a bottle of water once he'd read about my exploits. Looks like I was going to have to deal with it. Great.

"So what are you?" he asked, gracefully changing the subject and taking my mind off of how screwy I was.

I frowned at him, my eyes narrowing in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Are you a Gryffindor or a Slytherin?" he asked.

"Oh," I said, trying to not let out a breathy laugh. The change of pace was too much for me to handle. "I'm a Slytherin."

"So you'll be my planner?"

"Nope. You won't follow the plan anyway," I replied.

Steve let out a heartfelt laugh, and I was grateful for it. This entire situation was a tad too mercurial, with me trying to be a professional and failing, and with Steve trying to get me out of my strict shell while he didn't trust me any farther than a squirrel could throw me. I would have said than he could throw me, but I'd seen footage of him in battle. He could throw a human body pretty damn far.

"So you won't be surprised if I told you I was going to deviate from the Tennessee plan?" he asked.

It was nice to know we already had an inside joke. It gave me a bit of hope for the future.

"It would surprise me if you didn't, actually," I replied.

I clicked back to the surveillance footage to see if I'd gotten any hits yet, and found absolutely none. Great. It suddenly dawned on me that we were going to need a place to stay while we searched for Barnes. I dug out one of the disposable phones while I pulled up a new tab for a Google search. My hand hit something hard in the side of the duffel bag, drawing my attention away from my multitasking. I released the phone to search the side of the duffel and found a zipper. I wasn't expecting Fury to blow me up, so I wasn't careful about unzipping the hidden compartment. Inside the pocket were numerous ID's and corresponding credit cards. That Fury was always ten steps ahead. I picked one of the ID's that had the name Victoria Alcome, and resumed my search for a hotel near the convenience store where Barnes was last seen.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, flicking his eyes to me.

"I'm looking for a hotel for us to stay in," I replied. "If I can find one near where Barnes was last seen, we might have an advantage."

I found a good hotel, and decided to spring for a room that was a tad more expensive. Or a lot more expensive, depending on what they had. Once I'd retrieved one of the cell phones, I dialed the number to the hotel and waited for an answer.

"Thank you for calling Hyatt Place Hotel. This is Rebecca speaking. How may I help you?" a chipper female answered.

I went through the motions of asking what rooms they had available and requested a room with twin beds that was on a higher floor. I was told that they didn't have twin beds, but they did have rooms with two queen beds and a sofa bed. I booked one of those and made sure it was on their highest floor. Once I gave her an approximate time that we would be there, she told me our room wouldn't be ready for at least two hours after the time I'd given her. I didn't complain. At least I'd gotten the room I'd wanted. Who was I to bitch if it wasn't ready by the time we got there?

Once I hung up the phone, I filled Steve in on the details.

"A sofa bed?" he asked.

"Yeah. A sofa that turns in to a bed and then back in to a sofa. Once we find Barnes, you two can take the queens and I'll take the sofa bed," I said.

"No, I will be taking the sofa bad. You will be taking the queen," Steve argued.

"No, I won't," I said. "The sofa bed is closer to the door, whereas the beds are closer to a window that is six stories up. I'm your bodyguard. I take the sofa bed. Besides, with how big you are, you'd break the damn thing in half."

Steve laughed at that, too. Hey, at least I was still funny. I was half afraid I'd lost my touch.

"If I didn't break the barracks, I won't break a sofa bed," he said, that hint of laughter still clinging to his tone.

"Well, I don't want to risk it, seeing as how someone would still have to sleep on it even if it was broken. I take the sofa bed once we find Barnes. And I take the bed closest to the door," I said.

"Are these orders?" Steve asked.

I looked at him. Like a good boy, he still had his eyes on the road. His face was still soft from laughing, but it was getting ready to turn hard and stubborn. Too bad for him, I was harder and more stubborn than he would ever be. Hopefully. I shrugged, knowing he couldn't see it, and stared out of the windshield.

"They kind of have to be," I replied. "My job is to protect you, and if I have to tell you how it's going to be in order to protect you, then that's what I'll do. Trust me, it isn't my idea of a fun time to be bossing you around."

"It isn't?" he asked incredulously.

I smirked and shifted a little in my seat. My elbow rested on the window ledge of the door and my legs scooted toward the center console.

"Maybe a little bit, but it still feels weird," I replied.

"Like calling me Steve feels weird?"

"Yeah. Kinda like that. I mean, you're…you. You don't need someone to boss you around, and you sure as shit don't need a bodyguard. This entire situation is weird."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, looking over at me. "Yeah, it is."

I glanced at him for a moment, catching his breathtaking blue eyes with my impossibly green and gold ones, and knew that being his bodyguard would be the easiest job of my life. There was something I couldn't explain about him that just drew me in and made me trust him more. If he were a mutant, I'd have said he was telepathic and could alter peoples' wills to suit his own needs. Alas, he was human, so the pull was all him. It was all morality, kind-heartedness, iron will, and physical perfection that drew me to him, that made me want to give up my life for him. I knew that he needed to survive because he would made this shit hole of a world a much better place if only we gave him the resources. It was a cause I would gladly die for. Of course, some of that pull may have been purely sexual, but I'd never been willing to die for lust. I'd fuck for lust, but I wouldn't die for it.

With that last thought, I turned my eyes back to the road and found a goddamn deer standing in our path.

"Steve!" I shouted.


	5. Chapter 5

(Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel, nor do I own any pop culture reference I will be making in this story. I only own Dani and her storyline.)

Chapter 5

I flung my hands up as if I could stop the deer from flying through the windshield. As I heard Steve's sharp intake of breath, it dawned on me that I could. Goddamn, I was an idiot sometimes. The world slowed down until it was like I was trying to swim through jello. I knew that Steve's reaction time was incredible, super-human, but I also knew that we were too close for him to hit the brakes and have us stop before we crashed in to the deer. A thousand ideas ran through my head as to what I could do.

I finally settled on slamming on the brakes and turning the wheel while keeping the deer immobile. If it bolted, it might run right in to the side of us and send us in to a tailspin. I was already trusting Steve to not jerk the wheel while my mind controlled it. I couldn't trust the deer to not rely on basic survival instincts and fuck up my concentration.

My power grabbed a hold of the wheel at the same time that it floored the brakes. Steve's foot was a split-second behind my power, and the fact that the brakes were already pressed startled him enough to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. I whipped the wheel around, careening us around the deer while the rest of my power worked on keeping the SUV steady and on keeping the animal in place. Thankfully, my trust in Steve was well placed, because he let the wheel go as soon as it started steering itself. I let off of the brake slightly once we were around the deer and let us slow to a stop. Whiplash wasn't on my to-do list. Instantly, my mind released the deer. I looked in to the side mirror and watched the deer sprint in to the woods.

It took me a moment too long to realize that Steve was staring at me and that my hands were gripping the dashboard so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. The sudden braking must've thrown me forward. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the windshield. I looked wild and dangerous. My eyes had gone hard and cold, as if the power itself had overridden every part of my personality and left me empty. My lips were set in a thin, determined line, my jaw tight with tension. I'd expected the thin lips and the tense jaw, because that's what generally happens to people when they're suddenly thrust in to a dangerous situation. The eyes were a shock, though. I knew they went dead and cold. I'd had plenty of people tell me that when I fought, or when I sighted someone down the barrel of my gun, it was like no one was at home inside my head. Using my power usually didn't elicit such a response. At least, I didn't think it did. Was it the scale that I'd been using? No, I'd lifted entire city blocks of rubble, complete with crushed cars, without having that kind of a reaction. Was it the sudden rush of fear? Maybe. I sucked when it came to being scared. I hated it.

I shook myself, letting the power recede back in to my mind. My eyes had life in them again when I turned to Steve. I knew he'd seen the scary sideshow from my profile. I wondered what that would do for his trust in me. Well, maybe it would help him understand what I had in my file.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

My voice was steady, and slightly worried. I hated fear, but I also hated it when people were fearful or hurt. My mother said I was a caretaker. It didn't take me almost reaching out to reassuringly touch Steve's arm for me to realize that, but it certainly helped reinforce it for me. I'd spent way too much time killing people and not enough time caring for people. Spending too much time without a soul tended to be bad for a person. Now all it took was one run in with a stupid deer for me to get all touchy-feely and abnormally worried. I guessed it was my way of making up for going all dead-eyed and scary.

"I'm okay. Are you?" he asked.

"I'm good," I said.

"What happened back there?" he asked, his eyes leveling on my face.

"Magic," I said. It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat like a bad pancake. I explained what I'd done.

Steve sat in silence for a few moments, probably trying to figure out what to say about my explanation. His eyes stayed on mine, and it took all of my willpower to not squirm. He had a lot of emotion behind those eyes, years of experiences and thoughts that I'd never be able to fully comprehend. I stared at him, forcing myself to look in to what I could see of his soul. In the short time we knew each other, I'd found that he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, regardless of whether he meant to or not. According to his file, that unwavering honesty was one of the reasons he was chosen for the super-soldier program. In a world where everyone was hiding everything, it was a strange thing to see. His voice shredded my thoughts about as if his words were claws.

"Could the deer have messed up your concentration?" he asked, eyes suddenly going curious.

"Yeah. Of course. If it hit the side of the car without me seeing it coming, I'd have gotten startled, and we'd have gone in to a tailspin. I'm supposed to protect you, not wrap you around a tree," I said.

A small smile curled the corners of his lips. I thought it was odd for him to be smiling already, but stress does weird things to people. Hell, I'd just tried to make a joke. Granted, I did that a lot when I was uncomfortable. Humor was my escape. Was it his escape, too?

"You protected me from the deer?" he asked.

That perfect mouth of his started twisting in an attempt to keep a full blown grin from forming. I smiled. I couldn't help it. Gods help me, his smile was contagious and I needed a laugh. I'd had plenty of close calls, but none had been quite like that. Apparently, there was a massive difference in adrenaline for me when it came to fighting bad guys or not hitting woodland animals. Maybe it was because, in a fight, that adrenaline had somewhere to go. Or maybe the adrenaline just faded to the back of your mind because you were too busy focusing on not being killed to focus on anything else. When you were staring down an unmoving animal and had time to do nothing but swerve and pray, you were riding on fear and fear alone. The only focus was keeping the car from hitting a body, which took significantly less focus than, say, hand-to-hand combat. Your heart had time to set up shop in your throat and try to choke you, and once you swallowed the muscle back down, all you could think to do to relieve the tension was laugh. Or that was all I could do.

So I laughed. It was soft, breathy, and short, but it was a laugh. It only made Steve smile more.

"I'll have you know," I said, my eyes still glittering with humor, "that deer are extremely dangerous."

"No, they're not," Steve scoffed.

His hands grabbed the wheel again and he eased off of the brake. With a slight turn of the wheel he straightened out the car and we were back on track to Pittsburg.

"Yes, they are," I insisted. "The males can skewer you with their horns, and even the females are badasses. They, like…they try to claw at you, but they don't have claws. They just have these sharp little hooves, so they try to smack at you and gut you and rip your face off all…"

I pressed the middle and index fingers, and ring and pinky fingers, of both hands together until it looked like I had makeshift hooves that Spock would be proud of and started pawing at the air like I was in a sissy girl fight. Steve choked back a laugh and I turned to look at him. He kept glancing from me to the road, as if he couldn't bear to miss my theatrics. I'd paused, my hands frozen in mid-swipe, and he let out a laugh as he glanced at me again. To his credit, he turned his eyes back to the road as he got his kicks out of my actions, but I doubted he could see anything. He squinted his eyes when he laughed, little wrinkle lines forming at the corners telling me that he wasn't nearly as serious as everyone let on. He liked to laugh, and it showed plain as day on his handsome face. Maybe I could do more to make him laugh. That'd be nice.

I allowed myself a smile at that thought before I started acting petulant. My arms drew in to my stomach, folding under my breasts as I slumped in my seat.

"Shut up. They're dangerous," I muttered, trying to keep humor out of my eyes and failing.

"Yeah, I can see that," Steve said, his laughter dying down a bit.

"Yuck it up, pretty boy," I pouted. "And watch the road. Another deer could try to ambush us."

Steve stopped audibly laughing, but I could see the slight shake of his shoulders that said he was still having way too much fun at my expense. I was right. He loved to laugh. Or he had the same reaction to uncomfortable situations as I did. My money was on the former.

"You looked like a deranged rabbit," he cracked.

Another bout of laughter broke free from his throat, and I contemplated punching him in the arm. It wasn't very professional, and I really only did that with good friends. Steve wasn't my good friend. I had no idea how he'd take being socked in the arm. Probably pretty well, but I didn't want to risk it. What I could risk, was laughing. Again. A chuckle shuddered out of my chest as I shook my head.

"You're not funny," I lied.

"You're not a good liar," Steve said, throwing my own words back at me. "If I wasn't funny, you wouldn't be laughing."

"I have to humor my clients," I shrugged, trying to force the smile off of my face.

It is incredibly difficult to perform a decent shrug while slumped in a car seat with a seat belt pressed in to your neck, but I managed. Steve didn't look at me, so yet another physical action was wasted on him. Not that I was upset about that.

"If you always do that deer thing, then you're doing more than humoring them. You're giving them stitches in their sides," he grinned.

"Better metaphorical stitches than real ones," I said, shrugging again. "Can't make people laugh when they have literal stitches in their sides. The doctor bills get expensive if you have to keep resealing a wound."

Steve didn't seem to know what to say to that, so he said nothing. A sign finally signaled that we were close to the highway. We'd be in Pittsburg in no time. Hopefully. If there was traffic, I was going to be pissed. I'd seen what had happened to our people when there was too much traffic. It made me itchy to think that I was stuck with nowhere to run, or drive. Hello paranoia, my old friend.

An alert on my computer pulled me out of my suddenly despondent train of thought. I'd received an e-mail. Yippee skippy. I hoped it was that cute guy from down the street! Oh, who the hell was my sarcasm kidding? It was work and I knew it. Steve, upon hearing the notification, lost most of his humor and glanced at me. He was a smart guy, as I'd already established in my own mind, so he knew it was something from headquarters and that it was probably something about Barnes.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Dunno yet. Gimme a second or five," I replied.

I pushed myself up so the seatbelt so no longer pressing against my jugular and shifted the laptop on my thighs. I went to my e-mails and found that I'd received something from one of Fury's many classified e-mail addresses. It wasn't titled. That was helpful. I clicked it open. Inside was a cryptic message from Fury and a downloadable file.

 _"Got this from the Cap exhibit a while back."_

Well, that was about as helpful as the e-mail title. I clicked the file to download it, then opened it as soon as the computer would let me. It was a photo of the Captain America exhibit. Standing in front of the Bucky Barnes memorial was a man in a dark olive green canvas jacket, blue jeans, and a black baseball cap. His face was well hidden from the camera with the hat. This photo did literally nothing to help me. It took me a second too long to figure out that it wasn't a photo. It was a video. How I'd missed that, I had no idea. Maybe I'd spaced out? Probably.

Regardless of me missing the obvious, I clicked over to the media player and started the video. The man in the hat walked very calmly around the meandering crowd, his focus seemingly glued to the Barnes memorial. He made his way to the thick, etched glass and stood there for a few long minutes, long enough to read the memorial and have some deep personal thoughts about the only assumed loss of Rogers' troops. The man took a sudden step back and glanced up to the top of the memorial, as if he were sizing it up. In a split second, his gaze was downturned and he was walking out of the exhibit.

I rewound the video and clicked pause the moment the man looked up. Like most, if not all, surveillance, the image was grainy. However, I could make out shoulder length dark hair that was tucked in to the collar of the jacket, and a set of downturned lips. The jaw was strong and covered with dark stubble, with what looked like a cleft in the chin. The eyes were a bit harder to make out, but I'd have bet good money that I was staring at our missing person.

"It's Barnes," I breathed.

The SUV lurched and I went flying forward in to my seatbelt for the second time in fifteen minutes.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I was glad I'd sat up when I'd gotten the e-mail, otherwise I would have had a seat belt cutting off my air supply. My hands clung to the laptop, making sure it didn't go flying to the floorboard as Steve whipped the car over to the side of the road. I wanted to curse him for scaring the hell out of me, but I honestly didn't blame him too much for his reaction. I hadn't given him any information other than the fact that I'd received something on his lost best friend. I didn't think slamming on the brakes was entirely necessary, but hey, I wasn't the one who'd been searching for someone for months on end.

"May I?" he asked, reaching for the computer.

Jeez, he was polite for a guy who'd nearly thrown me through a windshield. Okay, maybe I did blame him more than I was willing to admit. But, I simply nodded and handed over the computer. He stared at the screen for a moment, then another, as if he was willing the screen to give up its secrets. Another moment passed before he looked up at me. His eyebrows were pinched over serious blue eyes. Just like that, all of the humor was gone, and I felt a bit of sorrow for its loss. As selfish as that was, I'd been having a good time, and it had felt like we were making some serious progress. Now we were making progress in another area, but just barely, and this area wasn't nearly as fun. And seriously, how much progress could you make with one months-old video?

"When was this?" he asked.

"According to Fury, a while back. Let me see it again?" I leaned over, turning the screen back to face me.

Steve allowed it. I looked at the video. Surveillance usually had time stamps, which was why cops loved using surveillance videos as evidence. Yeesh, with how much I knew about cops, you'd think I should be one. I guessed that was why Marcia bought in to my rouse so completely. Yeah, that had to be it. She wasn't willfully ignorant or anything. Uh-huh. Sure.

Oh, yay. Our video had a time stamp. Thank friggin' goodness. The video was dated about a month after the reveal of the Hydra infestation, and was taken at about eight at night. Plenty of people had been wandering around the exhibit, and people generally had more time to do that at night, even if it was tourist trap D.C. It was a smart move on Barnes' part. Go to a crowded place, surround yourself with civilians so you could go as incognito as possible while not worrying about being attacked, and get the hell out as soon as you could in order to avoid detection. He had almost succeeded in that last bit, and honestly, it was a miracle we'd even found the footage. He'd looked up for a split second, and the Cap exhibit almost always had people roaming around. Picking him out of the crowd, even with how closely monitored the exhibit was, would have been impossible if he hadn't had the urge to look up. It was a damn good find. I would have to ask Fury who found the tape once I got the chance to call him.

"It's dated about a month after Barnes disappeared," I said, turning the screen back to Steve.

"So he was still in D.C. after S.H.I.E.L.D. was destroyed," Steve said. "Why didn't he just come find me? Why go to the exhibit?"

There was so much pain and confusion in his eyes that it almost hurt to look at it. On some level, he must have felt betrayed. This was supposed to be his best friend, and brainwashed or not, you'd think your best friend would turn to you for clues as to who they were rather than go to a memorial to read minimal, objective statements about themselves. Of course, I was probably projecting the betrayed bit on to him. I did have a shoddy moral compass, after all.

I fought to not reach out and touch Steve's arm, fought to not give him physical comfort to dampen the pain in his eyes. It was one hell of a fight. It was so much of a fight that I actually caught myself absent-mindedly reaching out to him and had to force myself to pull my hand back to rest on my thigh. I didn't know if he'd seen it, what with being so wrapped up in finding out that Barnes had stayed in D.C., but he was an observant man. I was betting he'd seen it and just not said anything. Avoiding awkward situations and all that.

"Maybe," I started, "he needed to objectively look at himself before he talked to you. All you'd give him would be happy memories of your lives, and he's more multi-faceted than that. He's had more life experiences beyond your friendship. He has to find out who he is on his own before he can come back to you and learn about himself through your eyes."

I really hoped that made sense to him. When he looked up at me, I saw a flicker of understanding behind the pain in his eyes. Was I going to need to elaborate? No. No, I wasn't. I saw that flicker grow to a flame as he realized what Barnes was doing. He still didn't like it, but he understood, and that seemed to be enough for him. Thank goodness. Steve had biased memories of Barnes, and even when Barnes was trying to kill both him and Fury, Steve had insisted that the good man he knew was still there, even when all evidence was pointing to the contrary. Barnes needed to know what he'd done in the war, and for Hydra, and then he could come talk to Steve. Then he could learn about the good man he was. I hoped.

I gently pulled the laptop out of Steve's hands and set it on my lap once again. He didn't fight to hold on to it, something for which I was extremely grateful. He'd gleaned all the information he could from the still frame. Unfortunately, now he looked a little glassy-eyed, like he was locked too far inside of his own head. I counted that as a double-edged sword. He was comfortable enough around me to lose himself, but he was also losing himself. I needed him here if we were going to get anywhere, physically or otherwise.

My hand reached out, and this time I didn't stop myself. I touched his forearm, which was so tight with tension that I could feel every muscle under his warm skin. His eyes cleared and he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. Shit. Not good. I needed him at the top of his game, dammit. Fury was right. Steve couldn't do this alone. He was too close to it all. Even his moral compass was being pulled out of whack by the magnet that was his extreme emotions. I'd never heard of him doing shit like this. It bothered me. He was always level-headed, logical, even when he was pissed. I'd heard that much about him from people who'd worked with him in the past. Now, he was a wreck. His own personal mission was getting in the way of his logic and reasoning, and that really bugged me.

"Do you want me to drive?" I asked, my voice as gentle as I could make it.

It was my way of asking if he was alright without asking if he was alright. I'd broken the guy code earlier by actually asking if he was okay, but hey, we'd almost had our car skewered by a deer and my power was riding me like I was a horse. I got a little bit of leeway in those sorts of situations.

"No," he said. "You need to keep an eye on the computer."

At least he was back to being reasonable. That was great. I gave him a curt nod and pulled my hand back. His arm was still tense enough that my fingertips could make out the rise and fall of different muscles as he moved to grab the steering wheel, but if he said he could drive, I'd believe him. I needed to believe him. I doubted he knew how to use a GPS, and that was something we were definitely going to need if we were going to get to the hotel. He pulled back on to the road, and once again we were on our way to Pittsburg.

We rode in near silence for most of the trip, with only my occasional directions breaking the still air. I would have turned on the radio, but I doubted that Steve would be able to handle both my musical tastes and his friend's reappearance at the same time. Sure, he knew that Tony, er…Mr. Stark, had certain musical tastes and that they were far different from anything they'd had in the forties, but he didn't know that I shared those tastes or that my tastes were even more, shall I say, heavy than Mr. Stark's. Something told me that turning on Avenged Sevenfold or AC/DC, or even Pink Floyd, would hurt Steve more than it would help him. Sometimes music was good for the soul, sometimes it was good for filling an uncomfortable silence, and sometimes it was bad for exactly both of those things. Hell, I would have talked to him if I'd had any idea as to what I should say to make him feel better. I didn't know him well enough to know if anything I said would make the situation worse or better. Therefore, I did the only thing I knew would work without a doubt, and kept my damn mouth shut for once.

So, we listened to air and the whir of tires as they moved over different types of asphalt rather than listen to music or each other's voices. Even when we hit a traffic jam, we stayed locked in silence. I was too busy being paranoid to talk in that instant, anyway, and I think Steve saw that. How wonderfully observant of him. Of course, when your car mate's saucer-sized eyes kept scanning your surroundings like they were expecting a full-on ambush, it didn't take very many observation skills for you to know to leave them the hell alone.

Thankfully, we made it to the hotel without being ambushed or so much as rear-ended. I said a silent thank you to the universe as I unbuckled myself and started grabbing bags out of the back seat. We'd been stuck in traffic long enough for our room to be ready by the time we arrived, or so I hoped.

I hadn't bothered to actually get out of the car in order to grab the bags. I'd simply slipped my way in between the seats, one knee on the center console and one knee jammed in to the middle of the seat back. The position gave me very little in the way of leverage, so even with my strength, it became difficult to lift some of the bags out of the back. My bag full of weapons, and Steve's bag full of…whatever heavy shit it was full of, were my main problems.

I heard the jiggle of car keys just before the driver side door clicked open. My fingers slipped through the cloth handle of my duffel bag just as I turned me head to see what was going on. Steve was getting out of the car. But, of course he was. What had I expected him to be doing? Ice skating?

"Stay in the car," I said as I lifted my bag over the shoulders of the seats.

I plopped my bag in to my empty seat and went diving again. Steve, who had been scooting himself out of the car, moved so that he was all the way in his seat again, his eyes intent on me.

"Why?" he asked.

"Bodyguards are supposed to clear the area before the client gets out of the vehicle," I stated matter-of-factly. Steve's bag of clothes was next to be pulled over. "Now get in the car and close the door until I open it."

"Dani, I know what Fury told you to do, but you can't be my bodyguard when you're not even half as tall as my body," Steve reasoned.

I flashed him a glare that, I hoped, clearly stated that I didn't like him insinuating that I couldn't do my job because of my height. The third bag I grabbed was Steve's as well, and probably held his shield and Captain America garb. It felt like something else was in there, something that made it heavier than it should have been, but it wasn't my bag, so I didn't question it. Well, I did, but I didn't question it out loud. I trusted that he'd checked the bag for explosives before he put it in my car, or so much as carried it around. He was smart enough to not get himself blown up.

"Say that to me again and see if it doesn't get you a bag to the head," I said. My voice held only a hint of animosity, mainly because I was still trying to be nice, and partly because I didn't actually want to hit him. I knew it wouldn't do any damage, but hitting such a pretty face just seemed wrong. Or, rather, hitting the back of the head that was attached to such a pretty face seemed wrong. Hell, it just seemed flat out wrong to hit him, regardless of how pretty he was.

For added effect, though, I slung his bag over the backs of the seats, making sure it went over the passenger side seat rather than the driver side. He was tall enough that I actually would have hit him in the head on accident if I slung the bag over his seat while he was still sitting there. Damn giants.

"And for future reference, I hate this bodyguarding bullshit that Fury is pulling, too, but don't ever question my ability to do my job. If I can effectively guard someone five inches taller than you, then I can damn well guard your tall ass, too," I stated.

I grabbed the last bag, my bag full of deadly goodies, and set it on the passenger seat before carefully moving myself backwards. Planting my feet in the footwell, I started loading my bags on to my left shoulder, leaving my right hand free and able to go for my gun. I'd tucked the laptop back in to the bag that Fury had prepared for me and slung that over my shoulder as well.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to question your abilities," Steve said.

I looked at him, my position in the car making me lean a little too close to him for my comfort. Yeah, I was short, but I was standing up in a car and my head wasn't hard enough to puncture the roof, no matter what some of my colleagues said, so I was hunched over. Loading all my bags on one shoulder was making me lean too far to the right and too close to Steve, until it felt like I was almost looming over him. It was a new feeling for me. Usually, other people were doing the looming. I let a small, dark part of me relish in the fact that I was taller and possibly more intimidating for it for once in my life before I got down to the brass tax of being logical. Of course, he hadn't meant to question my abilities. He was pointing out what seemed to be obvious. It was rather difficult to guard the body of someone who was a head taller than you were. I settled my eyes on his from a foot away and let out a resigned sigh. Goddammit, I hated it when I was unjustifiably angry.

"I know. Dammit, I know. I let my own insecurities interfere with my comprehension skills, and I'm sorry for that. I'm also sorry for threatening to hit you," I said. "You can grab your bags."

I reached for the door handle and was promptly stopped by Steve's voice floating to my ears.

"Are you sure it's insecurities, or are you scared?" he asked.

Scared of what? Scared of him? Scared of myself? Scared of intimacy? Scared of a hotel? What was he thinking I was scared of? I didn't open my mouth to ask. Not yet, anyway. We needed to get out of the car. We were sitting ducks right now, and I didn't like it. Maybe that was what he meant. That I was scared of getting him killed or failing at my job. No, that would go back to him questioning my abilities, and it would go back to me being insecure. What the hell had he meant?!

Instead of answering his question or mine, I opened the door and spilled out of the car. My hand was instantly on my gun, ready to pull it if anyone made any kind of furtive movement. My gold and green eyes scanned the area around the car and the hotel. I even looked up, which most people don't think to do. We always expect attacks to come at us from ground level, but never from above. I knew better, so I did a quick once-over of the windows and the roofs of the buildings, and even the trees that were scattered at the edge of the property. My eyes kept looking around as I made my way around the car and opened the door for Steve. He slid his tall, muscular body out of the front seat and locked the car.

"Am I scared of what?" I finally asked. I moved toward the front door of the building and he followed dutifully.

"I meant to ask are you still scared," he said.

His words didn't match his tone. He sounded almost apologetic, as if pointing out my fears was a bad thing. It was. It meant I sucked at hiding my feelings. Then again, one of my powers was being able to control fire, the element generally linked to anger and uncontrollable passion. Maybe it was a sign that I was meant to be uncontrollably passionate. Maybe that was also the reason I was such a hothead. No pun intended. Regardless of why, I seemed to wear my emotions my sleeve, just like Steve did. It made me wonder even more of Steve was aware that he was so readable, seeing as I had no idea that I was so readable. I doubted it.

"Still scared of what?" I asked again.

"You seemed to be scared of the traffic we hit. I was wondering if it was still affecting you, if it was making you angrier than usual," he said.

Goddamn, he was perceptive. But…angrier than usual? How did he know how angry I usually was? Answer: he didn't. He had to be pulling from his own collected data on that one. So far, I had been relatively calm, even happy. Suddenly, after one traffic jam, I was threatening physical violence. Okay, maybe he had a point.

"I wasn't scared of the traffic," I said, forcing a scoff out of my throat. "I was paranoid. There's a difference."

"Why would you be paranoid of traffic?" Steve asked.

I didn't look at him as I reached for the hotel's door handle. I didn't want to level annoyed, or even half-dead, eyes at him. It was a legitimate question, but I still couldn't see how he didn't get it. After Fury, and the interstate in D.C., how could he not understand that traffic was not your friend? Hell, it wasn't your friend when there weren't people trying to kill you on the regular, but add in dudes with bazookas and traffic turned in to a full-on enemy.

"Ask Fury," was all I replied with as I walked in to the hotel.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The woman behind the front desk was a beautiful blond with long hair that was artfully decorated in loose curls down her back. She looked up as soon as the door opened, her olive face shimmering with light as she smiled at me. Some people could literally light up a room with their smile. She was one of them. I felt a twinge of jealousy, wishing I, too, could bring a room to a stand-still with a single flash of white teeth. She was also tall, around five foot nine, though I was betting some of that height was due to high heels and not genetics. I felt Steve enter the room at my back, the heat from his body telling me his was only inches away. I didn't know it was humanly possible, but the woman's smile got brighter the second she saw Steve. I didn't blame her, but if she could turn down the wattage before I went blind, I would be grateful.

My wish was soon fulfilled, for as I walked toward the desk, her smile faltered. I was betting it was the gun or the fact that Steve seemed to be glued to my side. Take your pick, she suddenly didn't seem as keen on being blindingly friendly. I wanted to saunter up to her, to play up the gun on my hip and the wiggle of the ass that Steve was a little too close to. The bags on my shoulders offset my balance, though, and if I tried swaying of any kind, I'd probably break something. Besides, even I lit up when I first saw him, and I knew that wouldn't have changed if he'd been seeing someone. Bad, but true.

Seeing as how I didn't know what exactly had made her smile, whether it be professionalism or a hot guy, and how I didn't have a moral leg to stand on when it came to staring at my charge, I settled for walking up to the desk with a warm smile rather than the saucy grin I'd been planning on. Who said I couldn't be nice? Everyone at the agency, but that didn't really matter. As I got closer, I noticed a name tag pinned to her dark blue blazer. She was Rebecca, the cheerful woman who'd helped me book the room. Now I had to be nice. Son of a bitch.

"I'm Victoria Alcome. I talked to you earlier this afternoon," I said to Rebecca as I neared the desk.

I'd have offered to shake a hand, but I was too paranoid for that and she was already tapping away at the computer behind the desk. Why paranoid? Well, she could have been working for Hydra, and with one good pull, she could lurch me over the counter and shove a pen in to my neck. With that in mind, my hand stayed well out of her grasp.

"Of course!" she exclaimed with another bright smile. "I'm glad to see you and your…" she paused as she looked at Steve, then back at me, as if she were trying to find the right word for our relationship. She finally settled on the one that most people seem to settle on when they see a male and female together and said, "boyfriend were able to make it. Your room is ready for you."

As she spoke, I dug in to the bag Fury had given me and pulled out my alias ID and credit card. I handed them over to her with a smile. Well, I more placed them on the counter top and slid them toward her. Again, paranoia. It's a wonderful thing.

"Oh, come hell or high water, we were going to get here one way or another," I said.

I added a cheerful lilt to my own voice and felt a little sick doing it. I could be nice, but I wasn't bubbly. Well, I wasn't usually bubbly. If I got incredibly excited about something, I was bubbly enough to be champagne, but the most I usually got to was giddy, and even that had a limited life span. Usually. Damn, I was a contradictory bitch.

"And how long are you planning your stay for?" Rebecca asked as she tapped on her keyboard.

I rested my left elbow on the counter, which was a nice tan granite, and leaned forward a little. I let a little bit of wickedness fill my eyes, the kind that had nothing to do with death and everything to do with kicked out of a church for being too sinful.

"That depends on how long it's available," I said, my voice dropping ever so slightly as if I were sharing a nefarious, girly secret with her.

"Oh," she said, her honey-brown eyes widening a little in embarrassment. She seemed the get the message I was trying to get across. The room was going to be booked for lots and lots of sex, as far as she knew. I suddenly noticed that she was wearing carefully applied makeup, the kind that made you look like you had none on, when in reality your skin couldn't breathe through all of the layers of powder. She cast her eyes, which had a light dusting of eyeshadow and a swipe of mascara, down to look at the screen as she tapped a bit more. "The room is available for two weeks."

"'Great!" I exclaimed, my smile growing wider. "We've been needing a getaway. That sounds like just the right amount of time. Now, if we need to leave early, the cancelation fees will be…?"

I left the question hanging in the air for her to catch, and she did so expertly. She straightened with a little bounce, making herself taller and perkier than I'd originally thought. I was betting she'd been a cheerleader at some point. There was just something about that bounce and how quickly she changed her stance that made me think she'd been in some sort of showy activity when she was younger. Those honey-brown eyes widened again, this time with a professional smile.

"Those will be charged to the card when you check out. We have a one-hundred-and-fifty dollar cancellation policy," she said.

"Awesome. We'll do that, then. Book us for the next two weeks, please," I said.

She checked us in and gave us two card keys for the room. I instantly handed one to Steve, who had been surprisingly quiet throughout the entire interaction, then turned to get back Victoria's ID and credit card. With that, we were on our way to the elevator and our room.

Steve stayed quiet all the way up until the hotel room door closed behind us. I set my bags on the dark tan, cornered sofa that sat in front of a huge flat-screen television. The TV was set on top of a jutted out section of latte-colored wall that was trimmed with light brown wood. A set of cubby holes was carved in to the section of wall and lined with that same light brown wood. That seemed to be the running theme of the room. Light brown wood, latte colored walls, and varying shades of brown décor. Hell, the couch even had a dark brown and tan throw pillows, as well as a milk-chocolate colored leather ottoman.

A dry bar and small desk to the right of the door, opposite the couch, followed the same color scheme, only the granite of the counter tops was black with brown flecks. Essentially, it was the best kind of counter top to have if you wanted to hide stains. I was suddenly glad I wasn't a clean freak, otherwise I'd have spent the rest of the day scrubbing the counters down until they sparkled. A mirror hung over the dry bar, just in case you wanted to get a good look at yourself while you drank five dollar bottles of Jack Daniels or your morning cup of coffee. Yeah, get a good look at yourself while you drink your java, looking like you just walked away from a traffic accident. That'll make your morning better.

The rest of the room was cordoned off, separated by a wood and paper screen that hid all but the feet of the queen-sized beds. I quietly slid my gun out of the holster and went to clear the room of any potential bad guys. Padding silently across the floor was no easy task, even if it was carpeted, due to my boots. It took a lot of training and skill to walk around in boots and not make any noise. Thankfully, I managed. Steve moved in to the nook where the dry bar was without any questions, letting me do the job I was assigned to do.

I rounded the screen, which was more solid than it had first appeared, and found that both beds were done entirely in white. The pillows, the sheets, the comforters, everything was white. The first thought that came to mind went right in line with the little lie I'd insinuated at Rebecca, and my second thought was "Ew. I hope these are bleached every day." The mattresses were actually stacked on top of frames that only an ant could crawl under, the bottom, black part of the frame not even an inch off of the ground while the light wood part of the frame was tiered on top of that. At least I knew an under-the-bed ambush wasn't possible. That made me relax a little. I made sure to check the floors between the beds and the window, just in case, all the while keeping my eye on the bathroom that was settled directly across from the beds.

The bathroom was small and open, and had the same dirt-hiding granite as the dry bar. The only place anyone could hide was the small room that held the toilet and the shower, and that was open and bare. Through the mirror, I could see the open door of the bathroom nook, and it looked like it was far enough away from the wall for someone to be hiding behind it. What little relaxation I'd had with the beds fled my system and left me with nothing but cold instinct. Once again, I quietly made my way across the floor, lowering my body in to a crouch as I walked. Anyone behind the door would aim high, looking to hit the head or center of the body. They wouldn't expect someone to come in low, and that's exactly what I did. I stopped in front of the door, one knee touching the hard tile of the bathroom floor. I lifted my arm up and slightly to the right, the butt of my gun pointing toward the door hinges. Again, they would fire straight ahead. This way, I didn't have to worry about a bullet catching me in the arm, just lots of wood and splinters. My breath caught in my chest as I prepared myself for a fight. As carefully as I could, I leaned around the bottom of the door, letting only one eye peek out from behind the wood. I could probably survive a bullet to the side of my head, but a straight on forehead shot was far more difficult to walk away from. And that, kids, is why you never go forehead first in to anything. It took only a split second for my mind to recognize that there was nothing but a wall behind the door. I let out the breath I'd been holding and stood up.

"Clear," I called out.

I exited the bathroom just as Steve was carrying the bags in to the sleeping area. Like a good soldier who'd had his orders way before hand, he dropped my bags on the bed closest to the door and dropped his bags on the bed next to the window. He didn't question my paranoia of clearing the room. He knew the score, now. I was hired to be his bodyguard, and I was damn well going to do that exact job until I was called off or killed. I was hoping I would be called off rather than killed. Being dead was not on my to-do list. Not yet, anyway. What he did question, once he'd set everything in its proper place, was something we hadn't spoken about since we'd entered the hotel.

"You're paranoid about traffic because of Fury?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "And because of the interstate attack on you in D.C. Traffic sucks anyway, but when you can't get away from people that are trying to kill you, it sucks even worse. Plus, you never know what car is holding an arsenal full of bad guys that are just itching to take you out."

Steve sat on the corner of his bed, his shoulders hunching forward as he settled his elbows on his thighs. He looked up at me, his eyes dancing with thoughts too rapid for me to comprehend. Maybe he thought I was crazy, or maybe he thought I had a good point. I just couldn't tell.

"That only happened twice," he reasoned. "And it only happened because of Hydra."

"Doesn't matter," I countered. "For me, it was enough to establish a pattern. Plus, every apocalypse scenario has some form of deadly traffic jam, and we came damn close to that scenario when those aliens invaded."

"So you're automatically paranoid about traffic, now?" he asked.

"Yep," I replied.

I moved toward my bed to grab the laptop out of Fury's goodie bag. I couldn't get any alerts if the thing was closed and in sleep mode. Once I'd grabbed it and wrestled it out of the bag, I turned back to Steve.

"To quote one of my favorite book characters, 'paranoia is just another word for longevity.' I fully intend to stay paranoid as long as it keeps me alive," I explained.

Steve nodded once, letting me know without words that he understood, on some level, what I meant. Paranoia had kept Fury alive. It'd had kept me alive. It had kept countless agents alive, and those who weren't paranoid usually ended up dead or being used as pawns in a power play. I refused to be dead, and I refused to be a pawn. I was too stubborn for either of those scenarios.

I looked at the clock on the bedside table and found that it was almost ten at night. My, how the time flies when you're having fun and mini heart attacks. Setting the laptop on the bedside table, I plugged it in and woke it up from sleep mode. If we got any hits during the middle of the night, I'd hear it. Once the electronic was all situated, I started rummaging through my bag of clothes for my pajamas.

"It's getting late," I said, not looking at Steve. "We need to get some rest if we're going to be at the top of our game for this search."

"I guess that means I won't be looking at your file tonight," Steve said.

I turned my head to look at him, holding back a sigh. Dammit. I'd told him that once we hit a stopping point, he could look at my file. Me and my big mouth. With a quick shake of my head, I turned back to grab my sleeping clothes.

"Not tonight," I said, finally finding the garments. "Maybe in the morning, once we've had coffee and breakfast."

I gathered the clothes and shoved them under my left arm before turning back to face him. He'd straightened up slightly so the back of his shirt wasn't clinging to his shoulder muscles. Those blue eyes were intent on me, displeasure flashing behind them. What was his problem? Oh, right. I was going back on my word.

"Maybe?" he asked, his voice filled with the same displeasure that he held in his eyes.

"Maybe," I repeated. "It depends on if we get a hit on the surveillance footage before then."

I sounded so reasonable! Maybe Fury was a good influence on me. Nah. I was too stubborn for good influences. Maybe. If I was around Steve long enough, that might change. From what I heard, people seemed to just be better around him, as if his moral compass drew everyone in and pointed them in the right direction. Well, some people, anyway. Natasha was still herself no matter who she was around. Come to think of it, all of the Avengers were that way. I guessed that was why they were all chosen to work with each other. Steve gave a slight nod to my reasonable argument and stood up. He went for one of his bags.

"Alright," he said. "I'll hold you to that."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I replied.

That was a huge lie. I really didn't want him reading my file. I knew what I'd done in the past, and I knew how it had made me feel. If I didn't work for S.H.I.E.L.D., I'd be considered one of the monsters that needed to be taken out. If I hadn't proven that I'd had my own moral compass and my own reasoning behind my actions, I'd have been shot on sight at countless battles. Yeah. I wasn't looking forward to this.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I went in to the bathroom to change my clothes. I'd chosen a grey, v-neck t-shirt and short black workout shorts that were the same material as a comfy pair of sweatpants. The shirt was tight, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. It hugged the curves of my body wonderfully, and the shorts made my legs look longer than they really were. It was a nice outfit for sleeping in. My weapons belt was carefully wrapped around my folded up catsuit and set on the closed lid of the toilet. I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. I didn't look nearly as tired as I felt and counted that as a win. It had only been a few hours since I'd met Steve, but I was already exhausted when I hadn't been before. Dealing with Fury, Tannen, my landlord, the deer, my powers, the footage of Barnes, the traffic, and the pretty blonde behind the front desk had taken way more out of me than it should have. The emotional roller coaster that the day had been had drained me more than physical combat usually did. I really hoped that shit stopped soon. If I was going to protect Steve, I needed to be alert, not bone-tired, and too many emotions tended to make me bone-tired.

With that last thought, I grabbed my folded clothes and exited the bathroom. What I was met with when I entered the room stopped me dead in my tracks. Steve stood in front of the computer, staring down at it like it would spill every last secret it held, and he was shirtless. His back was to me, and I could see every hard muscle under his pale skin. He wore dark grey sweatpants that made a perfect silhouette of the fullness of his backside. My mouth suddenly felt like I'd spent a week lost in the Sahara desert and my lips suddenly felt like they were cracking from lack of moisture. I licked my lips to try to get some moisture back in them. It didn't work. If anything, it only made my lips feel worse. My tongue felt so rough that I could have sworn I was part cat. Ugh, this shit wasn't fair. Why did I, the chick with a super-libido, get assigned to guard the most perfect man in the universe, especially when I had rules about dating charges or coworkers? I suddenly wanted to break my own rules and suggest we go out for a nice dinner.

All thoughts ceased when Steve turned around. If his back was enough to make me rethink my stance on coworker dating, his front was enough to make me rethink the double bed option. His shoulders were broad, his pecs were high and firm, and his stomach had a lovely set of six-pack abs. No hair decorated his chiseled torso, which I found to be both sexy and slightly disappointing. I liked a little bit of hair sometimes, especially if it was that thin line of hair that led from belly button to waistband. It hit me, quite suddenly, that being any kind of disappointed with a body like that in front of me meant that I had something severely wrong with my brain.

It took all the willpower I had to draw my eyes away from his nude torso. By the time I could look in his eyes, I saw a hint of embarrassment, a spark of discomfort, and a smidge of humor. I'd been gawking. Dammit. My shoulders rolled backward as I cleared my throat and tried my damndest to be casual. Don't focus on how sexy he is. Don't focus on how sexy he is. Don't focus on how sexy he is!

"Sorry about staring at you," I said as I moved toward my bed. "The shirtlessness caught me off guard."

"I didn't pack a shirt to sleep in," Steve said, his tone apologetic. "I didn't think Fury would assign anyone to help me, let alone a woman. I'd have packed a shirt if I had known."

"No worries," I replied, waving off his unspoken apology with my free hand. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. I just said it caught me off guard. As long as you're comfortable, I'm cool with it."

It was nowhere near a bad thing to have him shirtless, and I was so cool with it I was a glacier. I placed the folded clothes and belt in to my garment bag before I went to my weapons bag. I drew out a shoulder holster and a nine millimeter Browning. The Browning went in to the holster with the delightful sound of metal against hard leather. With a quick motion, I hooked the loop of the holster over the corner of the headboard and had myself a makeshift defense system. I was effectively ready for bed. And suddenly, I wasn't. I felt eyes on me, as if they were burning holes in to my skin. It was unnerving enough for my exhaustion to lift a little. I turned my head and found Steve staring at me. His gaze quickly shifted to the floor, as if he was ashamed of something, or simply unable to meet my eyes for some strange reason.

Was he…had he been checking me out? No, that was impossible. Well, it wasn't impossible, but it felt unlikely. Maybe he hadn't seen a woman in this few clothes? No, he lived in New York. There were everyday women that wore less than this. Maybe he'd been caught off guard by the shoulder holster on the headboard? Yeah. Yeah, that had to be it. So why did he look like he'd been caught doing something wrong? I was too tired for this train of thought. Sure, it was natural for me to have an attraction to him. He was Mr. Perfect, Captain America, the guy all the good girls wanted. I was a mutant, an agent, and someone he knew almost nothing about. Yeah, I was good looking, but I wasn't nearly as good looking as say, Rebecca. Him being attracted to me, especially this early in the game, just felt…wrong. Wrong as in impossible, not wrong as in it shouldn't be happening.

I forced the thoughts of him possibly gawking at me to the very back of my head as I settled my bags in between the beds, making sure that Steve had enough room to climb in to his own bed. I pulled back the covers of my resting place and settled a knee on the mattress, a clear signal that it was time to call it a night.

"We'll come up with a game plan in the morning so we can search for Barnes," I said as I slipped in to the bed.

I gave myself major points for not blushing from head to toe or pointing out that it had felt like he'd been staring. I had the distinct feeling that things would have gotten mighty awkward mighty fast if I'd said anything about his apparent staring. I didn't want things to be awkward. As I settled in to the sheets, Steve got in to his own bed, his blond hair bobbing a little as he nodded.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," he said as he slipped down under his covers.

"Awesome," I said. I reached for the light on the wall. Right before I clicked it off, I said, "G'night, Steve."

A gun shot rang through the air, bouncing off of metal walls like they were trampolines. A woman screamed, a high, panicked shriek that sliced through the deafening echo of the gun shot. Men started shouting orders, their voices deep and angry. More men started screaming, their cries ones of unfathomable pain and suffering. Flames filled my vision, so hot that the base of them was white with light yellow flickering at the tips. Green and gold eyes, rimmed with black and drowning with tears, opened only a few inches away from my face. The gold ate away at the green and white and black, spreading outward until all that remained was an otherworldly yellow-white glow.

Strong hands grabbed my shoulders, shook me until the harsh, rage-filled eyes dimmed from my vision. My eyes popped open, panic setting in, and I forced my power outward in to those hands, pulling them off of me and slamming the person they were attached to in to the ceiling above me.

Steve's voice called my name through the dark, sounding too strained for comfort. We were under attack and I hadn't heard a damn thing. My hand automatically pulled the Browning out of the holster before I turned to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Steve's bed was empty, the covers thrown back as if he'd been in a rush. I should have heard any struggle he would have put up. I scanned the room with my gun and found no one there. What the hell was going on?

"Dani," Steve's voice said again. It was coming from above me.

I pointed the gun at the floor and looked up, finding Steve pinned to the ceiling. His hands had been the ones on my shoulders. He'd been the one shaking me. That was why his bed was abandoned. Oh, shit.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed.

I clicked the safety on the gun before returning my attention to Steve. I loosened up on my power, releasing him from his spot on the ceiling, and carefully lowered him to the floor. Once his feet were on solid ground, I let out a slew of apologies and inquiries.

"Oh, my god! I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else. I thought we were under attack! Are you okay?! God, I didn't mean to do that. I'm so sorry."

Steve rested one knee on my bed like I'd done earlier that night and grabbed a hold of my shoulders again. His hands were warm and solid, and they pulled me out of my panic just enough for me to notice that he was taking deep breaths. I'd pinned him so hard that he hadn't been able to breathe. No wonder he'd sounded like he was in distress. He had been. And no wonder he hadn't said anything other than my name. He hadn't been able to draw enough breath to say anything but two syllables. Goddammit!

"Dani, Dani, it's okay," he said. He lowered his face so he could catch my frightened gaze, letting me see the sincerity of his words in those blue orbs. "It's okay."

I stared at him, trying to slow down my pounding heart, trying to force the panic out of my system. Why had he woken me? What had happened?

"What happened?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected it to be.

"You were having a nightmare," he explained. "It sounded pretty bad."

My throat worked at swallowing down the last of the panic. I remembered now. It was a recurring nightmare, one that I hadn't been able to shake for years. It was pretty bad, just like he'd said. Thankfully, it wasn't as nearly as bad as it used to be, but apparently it was still bad enough to wake Steve and then have him wake me. I could see the question in his eyes, him wondering what the hell could cause me to do…whatever I did. God, I didn't want to know what I'd done or said in my sleep. Even if it was just tossing and turning, which I sincerely doubted was the case, I didn't want to know what I'd done to wake him. I also didn't know what was worse: me having the nightmare, or me having the nightmare in front of a charge who also happened to be really hot.

"I'm okay," I said. My voice sounded normal. Yippee. "It was just a bad dream. They happen to the best of us. It was nothing."

"It sounded like something," Steve said.

His hands were still on my shoulders, as if he didn't want to let go until he knew I was okay. I was so not okay. He'd find that out soon enough, but not now. Not now at…what time was it? I spared a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was two in the morning. Yeah, he wasn't going to find out shit at two in the morning. Hell, I didn't even want him to find out once we'd had breakfast. I forced my face to be as comforting as possible, which was the exact same thing he was trying to do for me.

Wow, I was slow. I'd just noticed that he was trying to be comforting. His blue eyes, which were close enough for me to notice some of the details in them, were filled with a mixture of concern and comfort. Once I gave him the full weight of my gaze, the concern fled, and left him looking like he was ready to give me a bear hug if I said I needed one. I wasn't fooling him when it came to trying to reassure him that my nightmare was nothing but a random bad dream. Now I was starting to get curious as to what I'd done in my sleep. Not curious enough to ask, but curious nonetheless.

"It was nothing," I lied. "Really. Get back to bed and try to get some sleep."

His eyes searched my face, though they obviously weren't content with what they saw because he didn't move. I wasn't exactly complaining because the longer he sat there, the longer he held me in his hands. It was an odd feeling, me wanting him to keep holding me. I wasn't usually like that. Hell, some of my past boyfriends said the lack of sufficient cuddling had actually turned them off. I couldn't help it if they were smothering me while I was fully invested in Back to the Future. But something in my mind, some small part of me at the back of my head, said that I wouldn't mind being smothered by Steve while I was watching…anything. It said that the weight of his hands, his body, would be welcome in any scenario. It said that there was a spark, an undeniable spark, between us that I'd never had with anyone else.

Immediately, I punched that thought right in its metaphysical face. A spark between us. HA! After knowing each other for only a few hours? Yeah right. I had a better chance of there being a spark between me and a rock. I was more tired than I thought if I was feeling a spark between myself and a relative stranger. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of wanting those arms to envelope me, to hold me close and chase the nightmares away while I slept. Suddenly, I was aware of Steve calling my name.

"Dani? Dani? Are you in there? Are you okay? Talk to me, Agent Ryan," he said, slightly shaking my shoulders as he said the last.

I blinked at him and drew a deep breath in to my lungs. With a shake of my head, I let the breath out, surprised at my own actions and thoughts. Since when did I share any kind of spark with my charges? Never, that's when. There had to be something wrong with me if I already felt there was some sort of spark. Maybe the nightmare had affected me more than I'd realized.

"I'm fine," I said, furrowing my eyebrows. "I'm just tired. And when did you start calling me Agent Ryan?"

"Right now, when Dani wasn't doing the job," he replied. A small smirk tugged at one side of his mouth and almost made him look innocent and boyish.

I smiled back at him, but it was tired. It was as tired as I was starting to feel. Panic and the accompanying adrenaline had fled so that nothing but a lack of proper sleep remained.

"Dani worked," I said, that smile still in place. "I was just too tired to say anything. Can we go back to sleep now?"

Once again, Steve studied me, and this time he liked whatever he saw. His hands released my shoulders. My body immediately wanted to be held again, as if his hands were all that had held me together and upright. They were definitely all that had been holding me upright. I slid back down on the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin.

Seeing that I was, in fact, tired, Steve nodded and stood, letting me work the covers around my body until I was comfortable.

"Yeah. We can go back to sleep," he said.

There was a hint of exhaustion in his voice now, too, as if, now that he'd comforted me, he was allowed to be tired. There was something else in his tone though, some underlying emotion that I couldn't quite grasp. I didn't have much time to think about it, because darkness began eating at my vision, and I was asleep before Steve even turned off the lights.


	9. Chapter 9

(WARNING: This chapter has scenes of graphic violence. Please proceed with caution.)

Chapter 9

The smell of freshly brewed coffee gently coaxed me out of my sleep. I took a deep breath in through my nose and rolled over to look at Steve's side of the room. His bed was neatly made, the sheets spread tight enough over the top of the mattress that I knew I could bounce a quarter off of it. Sunlight was gently pressing against the veil of white curtains, almost as if it were begging to be let in, begging to caress the room with soft, golden rays. My eyes found the clock on the bedside table. It was almost eight thirty in the morning. I'd been able to get in five more hours of sleep, all of which had been dreamless. With a silent thanks to the deities above, I sat up. My tired mind only then noticed that something was missing from the bedside table. Something that I needed. The laptop was gone.

Thankfully, I was awake enough this time around for panic to not grip me by the throat. If Steve was up, he probably had the laptop, though I doubted his ability to use it properly. Maybe Natasha or Wilson had been giving him lessons? Probably not. I ran my fingers through my hair to smooth down some of the bedhead I no doubt had, then stood to face the day.

I rounded the barrier of the room and found Steve sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in his right hand and the laptop resting on the ottoman. He was leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs and his left hand nestled in the valley between his lips and chin. He was staring at the screen as if he were silently interrogating it, his eyes hard and filled with silent determination. He'd had close to the same look in the car the day before, but now there was underlying patience, the knowledge that he could sit and glare at the screen all day until it finally gave him what he wanted.

I leaned against the wood and paper…no, that wasn't paper. What was it? Ah. Hard, translucent plastic. I leaned a shoulder against the barrier, whatever it was made of, and crossed my arms over my chest, just studying him. After a few long minutes of silence, I just couldn't take it anymore. He didn't have to stare at the screen for hours on end. The laptop would notify us if it got anything.

"You're going to go crosseyed if you keep doing that," I said. My voice was gravelly with sleep.

Steve looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. I knew that he hadn't seen me standing there, but I didn't know that all of his other senses had shut off, too. He should have heard the rustle of sheets, the fall of my footsteps, which were nowhere near quiet in the morning. I was a lumbering troll in the mornings, without even a hint of my usual daytime grace. Ugh, I hated it when other people proved Fury right. It was one thing when he did it, but when other people did it, it just seemed like ego-stroke-overkill. But Fury had been right. If I hadn't been sure of that earlier, I definitely was now. The superhuman didn't hear me move around a small room, and if he did, he was so wrapped up in his own personal crusade that he'd never thought it might be a bad guy. Nevermind that we were on the top story. Someone with enough skill could finagle the window open enough to get in if they really wanted to, and he'd have been oblivious. Steve needed someone with him right now. He really did need some form of protection.

Steve stood, being the gentleman he was raised to be and started talking as he rounded the ottoman to get closer to me.

"I didn't realize you were awake," he said. "How are you feeling?"

He stopped about a foot away from me as he asked his question. There was a sudden tension in his left arm, now, and if I didn't know any better, I'd have said he wanted to reach out and touch face. My face, to be exact. It seemed he was still worried about me after last night's little debacle. I gave him points for that. I also gave me points for being this observant before I'd had so much as a sip of coffee. Being an agent was good for my morning routine, it seemed.

"I feel like I just woke up," I replied, ignoring the obvious unspoken question within his question.

"No more bad dreams?" he asked. He tipped his chin to his chest, and it helped him better focus his eyes on mine.

I shook my head. "No, not that I can remember."

Dammit, I couldn't get around that one. I wanted to, for some reason, even though I knew my secrecy about last night's bad dream wouldn't matter in a few hours. I still wanted to hold on to my secret for as long as I could. So I did, and I tried to evade more questions by going for coffee.

I went to the dry bar and poured black liquid in to a meager paper cup. They couldn't give you bigger cups? Really? I needed big doses of java, not these piddly shot glasses. Within my own head, I let out a sigh and let it go. There was nothing I could do about the cup size. It just meant I'd have to get up more to get my caffeine fix.

"Anything from the scan so far?" I asked.

I kept my back to Steve as I asked and started the doctoring process. It was an exact science for me when it came to making my coffee drinkable. I'd drink even shitty coffee, but it had to be made to my standards. I was a picky bitch sometimes. I dumped two packets of real sugar in to the cup and added half of one of those little creamer cups before Steve responded.

"No. Nothing yet. It's like he went back in to hiding after that one time, like he knew he'd been seen," Steve said.

From his voice, I could tell he'd settled himself back on the couch. Without turning around, I knew he'd be staring at the computer screen. I grabbed one of the brown, hollow coffee stirrers, the ones that couldn't even stir a thimble of water, then grabbed three more. Using only one stirrer left all of the sugar on the bottom of the cup and made the coffee taste like shit. I pressed all of the stirrers together, making a little stirrer square so I could properly fix my coffee. Once I was done with them, I sucked the coffee that dangled in droplets from tips of the brown plastic and threw them in the trashcan that sat next to the mini-fridge under the dry bar. I didn't even turn all the way around the have my suspicions confirmed about where Steve was.

I walked over to him, scooting around to his left side before taking my seat on the couch next to him. He was still staring at the screen. If he hadn't been a superhuman, I'd have said he'd screw up his eyesight if he kept on glaring at the computer screen.

"It'll make a little sound when we get a hit," I told him, using an almost motherly tone on him. It was meant to be reassuring and gentle, but it came out motherly. I was definitely a damn caretaker. "You don't have to keep staring at the screen like that."

He turned his head slightly to look at me from the corner of his eye, then sighed, resigned to the truth. He slumped back against the couch, which was easier for him to do since he was tall. My feet would have had a hard time touching the floor if I did that. Freaking giants. I always got stuck with giants.

"I just…" he pointed at the screen with his now free right hand. He'd moved the coffee to his left hand. "I thought he would show up sooner than this. That'd we'd have had something by now. Anything. But it's radio silence."

Without thinking about it, I patted his thigh, a little too high up for my comfort, and probably his. If I'd been thinking about it, I'd have aimed for his knee, but because my body decided to leave my brain behind, I'd ended up patting the middle of his muscled thigh. I felt that weird spark again and quickly drowned it in too-hot coffee. My tongue didn't exactly burn, but it didn't feel that great either. Once I'd swallowed without choking on heat, I gave him sympathetic eyes. It's a task to give sympathetic eyes to someone who's trying to not worry about you. Or laugh at you, for that matter. Apparently, I'd been amusing when I'd swallowed burning liquid, but not amusing enough for him to actually let go of his concern.

"We'll find him," I said, removing my hand from his thigh. "It might just take a while. Why do you think I booked the room for two weeks?"

"You don't really think it will take two weeks to find him, even with this scan, do you?" he asked.

His brows beetled over his eyes, so much so that I wanted to take my thumb and smooth out the little creases the action created. I didn't. What I did do was shrug and take a tentative sip of coffee. It was actually pretty good when it wasn't scalding my throat.

"I don't know," I said once I'd swallowed. "Wilson's been looking for him for how long and the only thing we got was one video of him at the memorial? It could take months before shows up again. I don't want it to, but it's a definite possibility."

Steve rubbed his hand over his face, as if he didn't want me to see his exasperation. I didn't exactly blame him. What he was dealing with was very personal, and having other people see that could really suck. Suddenly, I thought of my file and my promise to show it to him once we'd had coffee and food. I wasn't quite ready for food yet and we both had our coffee. The moment of terror was at hand for me, and I wasn't sure how I was going to deal with it. Not nearly as well as Steve was doing with his own problems, that was for damn sure. Yet, despite the fact that I was going to loathe what was coming, it was the only way I knew to get his mind off of his search. Well, the only moral way I knew. I could hit him or I could have sex with him, but neither of those were things I wanted to do just to get his mind off of his personal problems. However, looking at someone else's problems was usually enough for others to forget their own. That was why people with certain mental disorders, or generally stressful lives, tended to be the listening ears and crying shoulders for others who were going through rough times. It was a self-serving endeavor that simultaneously made someone else feel better because they were letting their own stress and feelings out. I could already hear a chorus of therapists calling to me, saying "Yes. Join us. You're perfect. Become one of us. We are Legion, and we are many."

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my head, like I usually did with thoughts I hated, and leaned forward to turn to laptop toward me. Steve gave me a confused look just before those perfect lips opened.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm showing you my file. Just like I promised. We'll still get a notification if the scan finds anything, so you won't have to worry about that," I explained.

My file was actually on the computer, seeing as how it was a computer set up for me, and I might need to make some changes during the mission. It was hidden under loads of other files, mixed in to files that had nothing to do with me or my job. Any tech whiz could easily find it if they wanted to. Hell, the kid down the street from me could probably find it if he wanted to, but S.H.I.E.L.D. just had to make shit complicated for their agents. Scratch that. Fury had to make shit complicated.

I finally found the file and opened it. It was loaded down with documents and photos. I turned the screen back to Steve and started explaining how to use the laptop. This is the mouse, use this to click. Don't touch this button. Press the X at the top right hand corner of the screen to back out of anything, yada yada yada. Only when I was about to relinquish control of the laptop did I notice that there was a new file that I'd never seen before.

"Hold on," I said, turning the laptop back to me. "This is new."

I double clicked on the folder, like I'd told Steve to do, and came up with a video file. I didn't have videos in my professional file. Well, I hadn't before anyway. I glanced at Steve before curiosity made me open the video and play it. In a split second, I knew I shouldn't have. It was too late to go back now. Steve would see it eventually. But why, why did we have to start with this one? Why was this video even in here?! What moron took this video?!

I was so wrapped up in the screen that I hadn't noticed that Steve couldn't see it. Rather than moving to computer to face him again, he moved his body closer to mine. I wondered why he did that. Was it the horror that I knew was on my face? The wash of emotions that said that something bad was about to happen in the video? Whatever it was, he got close enough for his leg to touch mine, and suddenly that comforting weight was there, anchoring me down as the video unfolded in front of my eyes.

Whoever was wearing the camera was sitting in the back of a limo, discussing the plan we'd already gone over. Some Russian terrorists were calling for my charge, the president of the Ukraine, to be handed over to them. Now, America doesn't negotiate with terrorists, or we're not supposed to, at least, so we figured we'd get the drop on them. We'd dressed an agent to look like the Ukrainian president while the real deal was being held in a secure facility several states away. The camera moved enough to show me, sitting there in my uniform, looking downright pissed.

I'd had a right to be pissed. The only reason the terrorists had gotten this far was because they'd taken my sister as their hostage. They figured that if they compromised the emotions of the bodyguard, they'd get their diplomatic toy. My superiors had been very keen on playing the terrorists' game, only we'd be playing by different rules. I'd told them it was a bad idea, but I was under orders and had to follow them to the letter. My orders? To talk to the terrorists and tell them we were going to give them what they wanted as long as they let my sister go. We'd give them our agent, they'd give me my sister, and then we'd massacre every last mother fucker that had touched her.

The car stopped moving, and the man with the camera got out of the car first. He, like everyone else, was armed. I wasn't. I'd told my boss that sending me in sans weapon was even more stupid than the plan they'd set up. They'd shrugged me off. Morons. The video showed that we were in a large, abandoned warehouse, because terrorists just love to be cliché. There were three of them, all pale and…Russian. One of them, a tall male with white-blond hair and blue eyes, stood behind my sister, who was bloodied and tied to a chair. Her brown hair was matted with remnants of dried blood and saliva, and one hazel eye was swollen shut. Her skin, which was a couple of shades tanner than mine, was dirty, as if they'd kept her underground and hadn't let her shower.

Two more men stood a yard or so behind her. One had light brown hair and dark eyes, showing that there was some European in his genetic background. The other had dirty blonde hair, as if he didn't get outside enough for the sun to lighten his locks, and grey eyes. My sister was the only thing keeping them alive. I just didn't think they knew it.

The camera man stepped to the side, and I heard the distinct click of my boots on concrete. I came in to the frame, standing as tall as I could, my face as cold and emotionless as a rock. I'd had to be emotionless, because at that moment, seeing my sister with her body covered in dirt, blood, and bruises, I was ready to personally strangle every single one of those men. I wanted their throats under my hands, and I wanted to stare in to their eyes as the last sparks of life left them forever.

My voice came through loud and clear over the microphone that was attached to the cameraman. I knew what I'd said. I didn't near to hear it again. Hell, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. My eyes were glued to my sister, and horror had drowned out any sound my ears could possibly hear. I didn't remember her looking that bad, that broken. Her body was hunched over in the chair, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible, and her one open eye was settled on me. Pleading. She was pleading with her big sister to save her, to get her the hell out of there. She'd been terrified. Gods help me, I didn't remember that.

I heard a car door open, and I knew that our undercover agent had exited the other side of the limo. I wanted to close my eyes, tear them away from the screen, anything to stop myself from seeing what happened next. I heard the click of polished shoes on the concrete as he rounded the car. I saw the faces of the Russians change. Something was wrong, something was amiss, and they knew it. The man behind my sister lifted his gun. Everyone moved to protect the agent, to draw their own gun, or to rush the terrorists. The camera shook as the cameraman went for his gun, and then my sister's head exploded in bits of blood, bone, and brain.

No one thought they'd take out the hostage. No one thought they'd kill her. No one knew she was their saving grace until the transaction was complete. No one knew what the hell happened next. No one but me. They were dead. Every last one of them. I could feel it now, just like I had then, that each one of them would die painfully, and that no one could stop me. No one could save them. No one could save my sister. No one could save them.

An eardrum shattering shriek bounced off of the walls as my sister's bound body slumped forward, taking the chair with her. She was dead before she hit the ground. The rush of concrete, the scraping of her flesh against stone, meant nothing to her. It meant everything to me. I rushed through the frame, charging at the Russians while a howl of rage rode the air around me. The gunman's arm snapped, once at the elbow and once at the wrist, throwing his gun to the floor. Bloody, jagged bone gleamed white through his skin, and he let out a pain-filled shriek. He got louder as the bone was ripped out of his flesh. I'd wanted him to shut up, but not nearly as much as I'd wanted him to hurt. My power slammed the bone in to his chest until only an inch or so was visible through the spurts of blood that drenched his shirt. Flames licked at his eyes and he drew breath to shriek again. The bone in his lung stopped him, and even as the flames ate away at his eyes, his brain, all he could manage was a bloody gurgle.

The guns of the other two men had flown across the room as I had, and were now safely on the agents' side of the building. No one moved to pick them up. No one moved to shoot the men now. I don't think the camera man even breathed as I descended upon my next victim. I was still running toward them, still moving so I could wrap my hands around a throat. It was a large warehouse, and everything was happening way too fast for me to reach the other end before all of the men were dead.

The brunette was next, and his eyes were already wide with horror, remorse, terror, any emotion he thought would save him. Nothing would. He bent over backwards in a crack of bone and a cry of agony. The back of his head touched the backs of his knees. The human body, the internal organs, weren't meant to stretch that way. I knew that something inside of him had split open, and I was thrilled. I let him collapse in a heap to the floor, his screaming coming as fast as he could draw breath. I sent out that fire again, let it slip inside of his skull and consume his brain like it was a wooden log. He screamed louder, but only for a second, and then he was as dead as the first man. As my sister.

By now, the man with the dirty blonde hair was taking steps backwards, preparing to run away. No. He wouldn't run. I wouldn't allow it. My power latched on to his arms, and I watched panic seize him. He was wondering what I was going to do. What torture I would kill him with. Without so much as blinking, I let him know. His arms ripped away from his body. The sickening sounds of flesh tearing and sockets popping were drowned out by his screams. Blood squirted from the stumps of his shoulders, spraying around him like a sprinkler, spattering the ground around him with precious life's blood. I could have left him like that, could have let him bleed out and die on the concrete, but he was screaming too much. He didn't get to scream. His pain wasn't as bad as mine. He didn't get to scream. I'd torn his arms off so that the sockets were still perfectly round and intact. They jutted out from the frayed meat of his arm just enough, and I had an idea. I rammed that socket in to the hollow of his throat, painfully rending his flesh open as I aimed for his vocal cords. I knew they'd split when the screaming stopped, and only then did I let the fire lull him in to death.

The cameraman still didn't sound like he was breathing. No one did. It was so quiet now, after the screams had faded, that I heard the combat boots on the ground as they rushed in to the warehouse. The men that filed in to the warehouse were our backup for if the bad guys tried to escape. They'd heard the gunshot, the screams, and they'd come to the rescue. Too little, too late. They stopped moving, too, staring at the carnage I'd created. I skidded to a stop on my knees in front of my sister's body. My uniform had ripped from the friction, and I'd had what amounted to road rash once I stood up. My power ripped the rope bindings from my sister's wrists and feet, flinging the chair in to the wall once she was free. My legs scrambled, pushing at the concrete until I had my back to the bodies of the Russians. My hands spilled my sister's body in to my lap, and I screamed.

I screamed as if my very soul were being ripped out of my body. It was raw pain turned in to sound, and it hurt even me to hear it. Through the camera's lens, I saw the military men drop their weapons and their heads, saw them averting their eyes as if it was too much to watch, too much to handle. Another ragged scream tore from my throat, and almost everyone winced. It was a sound of pain so strong, so horrific, that it clawed in to your mind, your heart, and brought out the most primitive levels of sorrow, remorse, and fear that man was capable of. My broken heart was spilling out of my mouth, and no human could face that. It wasn't in us to face that.

I huddled by body over my sister's until she was all but lost from the camera's view. The camera would never see her face, would never remember what I saw. But I did. I remembered her face, her single open eye glazed over with death, her beautiful features slack and swollen and covered with hot blood, her head…Gods, her head. I screamed as fast as I could draw breath, each sound becoming more ragged and painful than the last, as if the cries themselves were tearing up my throat like claws digging in to soft flesh. My throat tried to close around the beginnings of tears, but the screams refused to be stopped. They tore out of me as scalding liquid ran down my cheeks and dripped on to my sister's slack face. Each new droplet of salt water washed away some of the blood, but it wasn't enough. Gods, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

I don't know when, but eventually I started screaming her name. Each scream was followed by shaking, heaving sobs until the last syllables were lost to pain. To agony. Her name, Katie, rang out through the warehouse until I had no more voice to scream with, no more sobs to wrack my chest with. I slumped over her body and just shuddered, but my pain wasn't gone. I hadn't done enough. My throat, my eyes, had failed me, and I wasn't done.

White flames started sprouting from my shivering body. The flames grew, the tips of them glowing a light yellow. They spread, licking their way around my body, around Katie's body, until we were both covered in white-hot fire. I kept her from burning, kept her slowing cooling body from turning black. The flames didn't hurt me. They were mine. I think at least one person knew that, because no one tried to put us out. No one so much as moved toward us. We were our own little ball of fire and pain that no one knew how to quench, so we just burned. We burned together until she was icy in my arms. Only then did I pull the flames back and just sit there. The room was silent again, and I realized that my fire had been crackling and whipping around me like it was being blown by a hot wind. A hot wind of my own personal torture.

I'd been thinking about our parents, how I was going to tell them that their youngest daughter was dead, how I was going to tell them that an open casket wasn't an option. How I was going to tell them that I'd failed her. I'd failed her. That thought had filled my mind, bounced around my head until it sounded like multiple voices all crying that I'd been her downfall. I hadn't noticed that the silence had been broken by the fall of footsteps on concrete. That the mission commander and two agents in coveralls had walked up to me. The video clearly showed that the agents had a body bag. It also showed that I hadn't moved, even when the commander stopped mere inches away from me. The cameraman had finally started moving forward, moving toward the bloody mess that I'd left on the ground. Moving toward me. My commander knelt in front of me, but made no move to touch me.

"Agent Ryan, we need to take her now," he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he were talking to a crazy person or a ledge jumper.

My head snapped up, and I watched my eyes bleed from green and gold to the pure light yellow of a glowing flame. My commander's body tightened, as if he were trying to keep himself from bolting. I remembered seeing a flash of fear in his brown eyes as I'd looked up at him. He'd told me later about my eyes, how they'd gone spooky and alien and deadly. Until now, I'd only had my own imagination to show me what I'd looked like, what rage-filled promise my eyes had held. I looked in to my own face, my own glowing eyes, and even I was scared of what I saw. My face was hard, as unmoving as stone and as gentle as volcano. My eyes were those of someone who had lost their mind, of someone who wouldn't think twice before slitting your throat and bathing in your blood, and what was worse, they were glowing. A monster stared at me from my own face, and I didn't know how to feel about that. I gave my commander serious points for not moving way.

My voice, when it came, was low and hoarse, as if speaking any higher would have made my voice break and squeak. I knew from experience that later on, when I'd regained control and tried to speak normally, it had done just that. Now, I just sounded menacing and dangerous. In that moment, I had been.

"If you touch her," I growled, "I will kill you. You aren't putting her in a bag. You're putting her in the back seat with me, or you and everyone here dies."

One of the agents spoke, his voice only slightly shaky with fear. "The upholstery will-"

"Find a goddamn tarp and throw it over the backseat. You're not touching her until I say you can touch her. Now, fuck off."

The commander waved him away, and he and the other agent scuttled off to go find a tarp. I stayed on the floor with Katie in my arms, my commander crouching in front of me, until they came with back to tell us that they'd set a tarp up in one of the SUV's. I stood, heaving Katie's limp body up, and walked toward the SUV they told me to get in to. I'd sat in the back of the SUV with her ruined head in my lap. My clothes had been so covered in blood that they'd been beyond saving. In the end, the uniform was sent to the incinerator, and I was sent to squeak out the message to my parents, over the phone no less, that Katie was dead.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

At some point during the end of the video, I'd stood up and walked away from the couch. My hands were hugging my arms, and I felt cold when I hadn't before. It had been three years, three years since she'd been killed, and it still hurt like it had happened only yesterday. My throat was tight and my eyes burned with the threat of tears. I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. Not in front of a charge. Not in front of Steve. I realized I was facing the television and that I was very carefully not looking at myself in the darkened screen. My eyes were fixed on the cubby holes nestled in to the wall, and they weren't moving for anything short of a bad guy trying to murder us.

I heard Steve move behind me. The room was silent, silent enough for me to hear the friction of jeans against suede. He was getting off of the couch. The video must've ended, or he'd just it paused to make sure I was okay. I didn't care which one it was. I was just glad the video was turned off. It was bad enough that I relived her death in my dreams, but up until now, I hadn't had to relive it through a video. I hated whoever had posted that video to my file. They knew I'd see it. They knew I'd have to watch at least part of it, but they posted it in there anyway, without any kind of warning on the file or anything. Fucking bastards.

Heat was suddenly hovering over my left shoulder, trying to push back the invisible ice that ate at my flesh. My throat swallowed hard enough for it to hurt. If he touched me, I'd cry. If he tried to comfort me at all, I'd fall apart, and I couldn't fall apart. Not in front of him. Not when I was supposed to be a goddamn professional.

"Don't," I said. My voice was steadier than I expected it to be. Go me. "Don't touch me. Please. I can't handle that right now."

There. Honesty. Honesty enough for that heat to draw back and leave my skin cold again. For a brief moment, I'd wished I hadn't told him to back off. I wished he'd touched me and covered me in the warmth of his body. I was left desperately wanting a comfort that I couldn't afford.

"What did I just watch?" Steve asked.

His voice was a mix of emotions. Confusion, sorrow, pain, anger, and disgust all mixed together and slammed in to my back. I know he didn't mean for them to hit me the way that they did, but I was still such a raw bundle of emotional nerves that even saying hello would have stung.

"Terrorists killing my sister, and me killing the terrorists," I said.

Short, sweet, and simple. Or rather, short, bitter, and simple. Whatever the flavor, it wasn't enough for him. He prodded me a little bit more, and not in the way that I wanted him to.

"You didn't just kill them Dani. You tore them apart," he said. Now he sounded disgusted.

"I know," I said.

"Why?"

I took a deep breath. Why. He wanted to know why. I didn't move, didn't turn to look at him as I started speaking again.

"She was my little sister. My best friend. I took care of her so much that it was almost like I was her second mother. When she'd come home from school as a kid, she'd come to me first. She'd tell her big sister all that she did that day, then she'd go to our parents. When she was being bullied, she called on me. When she needed advice, she came to me. When she wanted someone to talk to, someone to hear about her dreams, she'd come to me. We were mother and daughter, sisters, and best friends, and I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to keep her safe. And those….those fucking bastards took her from me. They took away the promise of her being a famous artist, of her having kids or a family, of her ever coming to me with joy in her eyes. They took her away from me. They took away a piece of my heart, and I couldn't stop them. No one does that, no one takes away what I love and lives. No one does that and doesn't get a part of them ripped away, too."

"You didn't have to-"

I whirled around, and the motion flung tears down my cheeks in hot tracks. I was angry now, angry enough for Steve to stop talking when I turned. Angry enough that the cold was eaten by the fire of my own rage. How could he stand there and say that I didn't have to tear them apart? How dare he say that to me?!

"Yes, I did," I said, my voice so hot that it burned my tongue. "You heard me screaming, Steve. You heard it. Have you ever, in your entire life, heard someone sound like that? Have you ever heard someone with pain so raw in their voice that it made hardened military men turn away? You heard my heart breaking, and you're telling me that I didn't have to kill those men the way I did? You're telling me that I could have done something different in that moment, when I couldn't think past my world crumbling down around me?!"

Steve held my angry eyes as I spoke. That is, until I spoke about the raw pain that made hardened men turn away. He, a hardened military man, turned away at the mere mention of how soul-shattering my cries had been. It dawned on me then, and I stared up at him, my eyes wide enough for the last drops of salty anguish to cascade down my cheeks. I'd been too wrapped up in the video to look at him, to notice his reactions. Even his leg against mine had faded in to obscurity in the face of my own grief. I'd been so busy watching my reactions and the reactions of other agents that I'd never even thought to look at Steve for his.

"You turned away, too," I said, my voice a shocked whisper. "You turned away, too. You couldn't handle it either, yet you're standing here trying to tell me that I could have done things differently with that emotion that you couldn't handle riding me like I was a fucking horse."

"I didn't mean…" he stopped and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes again. He looked sad, remorseful, even. "I'm sorry. You're right. What you did was…shocking. I didn't expect something like that. Not from you. You don't seem like that kind of person."

He'd known me for less than twenty-four hours, and he already had a bead on the kind of person I was. It was an impressive accomplishment, seeing as how I hadn't given him much to work with. Could he see in to the hearts of the people he talked to, like some human lie detector or fast-acting personality measurer? Did he have some sort of checklist in his mind as to what made a person good, or had he taken Fury on his word and expanded his understanding from there? I wasn't as angry now that he'd said I was right, now that I'd had time to stop and question why he thought I was a good person, but a little hint of ire hung on to the tip of my tongue. I couldn't help that, but I tried to not make it known that I was still mad when I finally spoke.

"Demons run when a good man goes to war, Steve," I said, quoting one of my favorite lines from Doctor Who. "The best of people can turn in to the scariest if you push them too far, try to bend them too much. Everyone breaks, but when the good men break, something so horrible is unleashed from them that even demons tremble at the thought. You're right. I'm not that kind of person, but they broke me. With one bullet they broke me and unleashed something so scary that none of the men that were there that day can even look at me anymore."

I wasn't crying anymore, and the tears from before had dried themselves in to stiff tracks on my pale cheeks. My hands had given up their job of clutching my arms and were now hanging loose by my side. The muscles in them were stiff, as if I'd they'd been held in fists for too long. I knew that wasn't the case. I'd probably have bruises on my upper arms if I was unlucky, because the only way my hands would have gotten that stiff is if the muscles had been strained too much, held on to something too tightly. The ache in my arms said I'd held on to myself too tightly.

" 'Demons run, but count the cost. The battle's won, but the child is lost when a good man goes to war' "I said, quoting the last of River Song's explanation of Demon's Run.

The lines I was using were being taken out of context, but I needed him to understand. I needed him to understand what had happened that day and what it had cost me to let my broken heart turn me in to one of the monsters. My little sister, little nineteen year old Katie that I'd helped raise up from a baby, was killed, and the last piece of my child-like innocence was destroyed with her.

I stared up at Steve, drowning myself in those eyes that had gone a murky blue with his emotions riding him, and waited for him to understand. It didn't take long, because he was a smart cookie. I watched that understanding, that recognition of how completely someone good could change under the right circumstances. I watched as sadness and remorse filled those expressive eyes, told me without words how wrong he'd been and how truly sorry he was that a good woman had been broken to the point that all that had been left of her was the stuff of nightmares.

He didn't say a word about how sorry he was for my loss. He didn't have to. That was there in his eyes, too. He knew that loss all too well. He was fighting to keep that loss from happening again with Barnes, and for one, shining, glorious moment, we were on the same sentence of the same page of the same chapter of the same book. We connected, wholly and completely, over our losses and what they had done to us as humans, as good people. We reached a basic understanding of each other, of our characters. Gods help me, we connected over the death of my sister, over the monster that resided within me, over the deaths of his parents and Barnes, over the imminent death of Peggy Carter, and over the monster that was locked somewhere very deep within his golden heart.

His muscles suddenly sang with tension, as if he wanted to reach out and pull me in to a hug. I saw it there, in his eyes, that he wanted to consume my pain, take it all in to him so I didn't have to deal with it anymore, with the nightmares and the rage and the alien eyes of something that was scarier than any of the bad guys he'd ever fought. I had a fleeting thought that that was destructive of him, but that his golden heart, his moral compass, wouldn't allow him to be any other way. As a good person, he felt compelled to take the pain of others away if he could. And I wanted him to do it. What was worse, I wanted to do the same for him. I wanted to soothe his mind over his loss of the past seventy years, over the loss of Peggy, his parents, and his best friend. I wanted to take his pain and swallow it down. I wanted to hug him, too.

But I wouldn't. I couldn't. This display of pure emotion, in and of itself, was unprofessional enough. You didn't hug your charges. I tried so hard to remind myself of that as he actually reached a hand out to me. I realized with a start that I was crying again. Goddamit! Twice in one morning! I usually didn't cry twice in six months, and here I was crying twice over the course of thirty minutes. It was enough to bring me back to myself, to push away the thoughts of just letting him hold me while I clung to him and tried to drown his agony in a sea of comfort while he tried to do the same for me. I took a step back just before his thumb wiped the tear from my cheek.

"I'm going to take a shower," I said, my voice surprisingly steady for someone who was riding an emotional roller coaster from Hell. "That should give you some time to skim over my file."

With that, I turned and walked into the bathroom. I'd left my coffee on the couch, and I'd completely forgotten to grab any clean clothes or hygienic products. Fuck me. Oh well. I'd just have find a way to deal with it after my shower.

I'd made the shower hot enough to scald my skin. It was an attempt to make the cold that clung to my skin disappear, but this cold wasn't coming from the outside. It was coming from within my very soul, from that broken part of me that had frozen over with ice so thick that not even my own fire could melt it. I stood there for a few minutes, letting the hot water beat over me while I regained control of my emotions and my professionalism. That was way easier than it sounded. I kept screaming at myself in my own head, chastising myself for losing it in front of a charge, and ultimately, a coworker. The anger didn't help. In the end, I shut my emotions down and turned myself in to a robot for the rest of the shower. I didn't think, didn't feel, didn't do anything but carry out the mundane motions of getting myself clean with hotel shampoo, conditioner, and soap.

Once I was done, I dried myself off and came up with a game plan on how to get clothes and hygienic products. You couldn't brush your teeth with hotel soap and a finger, after all. Soap also didn't work well as deodorant. In the end, my game plan became, book it to the bed in the towel and try to not flash my intimate bits.

I couldn't see Steve whenever I opened the door to the bathroom nook, and took it to mean that he was still on the laptop. The distinct click of a mouse button told me I was correct. I made a break for it, my short legs eating up the short distance between the bathroom and the bags that lay between the beds. I quickly rifled through my clothes bag, grabbed what I needed, and bounded back in to the bathroom. I wasn't quiet about it, either. Who had time to be stealthy when they were butt naked in a hotel with what basically amounted to a client? My guess was no one. No one that I wanted to hang out with, anyway.

A few minutes later, I had my hair up in a towel and was fully dressed. Well, fully dressed except for boots and weapons. My teeth were brushed, my bladder was empty, and my mind was as blank as printer paper. I felt much better. Today I wore civilian clothes, because I really didn't need to go around flashing my agent status when I was almost certain that we weren't the only ones looking for Barnes. Plus, that catsuit was a real bitch to get off when you had to pee, nor was it entirely comfortable. The shirt I'd chosen was basically the same shirt I'd worn to sleep in, only it was that olive green that is so often associated with the military. It was a good color on me. It made my pale skin seem a little bit warmer and brought out both the green and gold in my eyes. I was also wearing a pair of skinny jeans that were surprisingly stretchy. They were stretchy enough that if I got into a fight that day, they'd actually move with me and not split at the first high-kick. I had several more pairs just like them in my bag. That was me. Find a piece of clothing you like and buy ten more before the stores stop selling them.

Now that I was clean and dressed, I exited the bathroom, put my dirty clothes and hygiene products away, and slipped on my shoulder holster. The holster and gun were a comforting weight on my shoulders, making me feel so much more secure. I'd grab my leather jacket when we left so I wouldn't scare people on the streets, but for now, my metal baby was going to stay exposed to the world…er, room.

When I rounded the wood and plastic barrier for the second time that morning, I found that Steve was still going through my file. It was a big file, and even though I'd taken some time to calm myself down, my shower hadn't taken that long. This time he was aware enough to actually look up when I entered his side of the room. Thank the fucking gods. I'd have been even more worried about him if he hadn't. Doing it once was bad enough, but doing it twice meant that something was seriously wrong with him.

His eyes widened a little when he saw me, then a flicker of humor and confusion passed through those blue depths. I was glad to see the humor, especially after what he'd seen, and no doubt read, about me. He pointed to his own blond hair, which was still slightly tousled from sleep. Funny. I hadn't noticed that. It's amazing what being tired will do to one's ability to pay attention.

"You still have a towel on your head," he said.

"I know," I replied as I walked further in to the cordoned off section of the room. "My hair is pretty thick, so it holds water for a while. It's either this or I apply for a spot in a wet t-shirt contest."

Woo! Glad to see I still had my sense of humor. Turning off my emotions had been good for me. I was becoming a regular standup comedian. Sweet. Steve, however, didn't seem to grasp the concept of a wet t-shirt contest or the joke about it. I needed to find a better audience if I was going to do standup. His eyebrows pinched together in a movement that was already becoming all too familiar, and confusion flashed in his eyes once again. I was betting I was going to be seeing that expression a lot while we were together. This one time, I was willing to let that confusion stay on his face. I really didn't want to explain the details of wet t-shirt contests to a guy from the prim and proper nineteen-forties. Thankfully, he seemed to let it go. Not so thankfully, he turned his attention to another topic I really didn't want to talk about.

"Why did you lie about your sister being alive?" he asked suddenly.

I had been wrong the day before. Today was the day that sucked. The air rushed out of my lungs on a heavy sigh. My shoulders slumped and my head nodded forward, sending the towel tumbling down. I caught it in my hands as the curtain of my damp black hair fell over my face. I stood there for a quiet second, trying to keep my emotions under lock and key. Hadn't we opened the wounds enough for one day? When I finally looked up, I had my emotions as under control as I possibly could. One pale hand pushed back my straight hair so I could look at Steve without black strands obstructing my view. Looks like I was going to be entering in to a wet t-shirt contest after all, because I didn't feel like putting the towel back on.

"I didn't lie," I sighed. "I just used certain words to make it seem like she was alive."

"You said she, and I quote, 'flips shit' whenever she's complimented on her work. That's present tense," he pointed out. "You made it sound like she was still alive. Why?"

I let out another sigh. Why did we have to talk about this again? Why, why did he have to pick at the scab? Was it his way of trying to figure out if he could really trust me? I mean, I got it. People lying to you doesn't help with the whole trust-building thing, but this was ridiculous. Ugh! If I didn't feel the overwhelming need to have him trust me, to have him like me, I'd have told him to stuff it. But I needed his trust so I could do my job, and having him like me in some sense made my job so much easier.

"A minor oversight in vocabulary," I stated. "You want to know why I made it seem like she was still alive?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Because if you tell people you lost your dog, they get all mopey and sad. You tell people you lost a family member and they suddenly look at you like you're the saddest being on the planet. Besides, why would I randomly blurt out 'Oh, yeah. Those figurines were given to me by my now dead sister. My sister is dead,' especially to a guy I'd literally just met a few hours before? It was a self-preservation tactic that backfired," I explained.

I could hear the frustration in my voice and tried like hell to tone it down a couple of notches. But dammit, I'd just finished getting myself under control and now he was trying to stir the shit pot again. I looked at him, feeling the growing frustration in my gut, and suddenly found myself staring at a very pleased man. Well, he wasn't pleased, exactly. He looked more like he was content with my answer, as if it had made him feel a bit better. I let my own eyebrows furrow together and frowned at him, letting him know I was thoroughly perplexed.

"I thought that might be the reason, but I had to know for certain," he said, responding to my oh-so obvious confusion.

"For the love of god, why?" I asked, my frown deepening.

"You said it yourself, Dani. I have to learn to trust you on my own. No one telling me to trust you will make it happen. I had to know if you'd tell me the truth about why you made it seem like Katie was alive," he explained.

"How would you know if I was telling the truth or not?" I asked.

"Body language and common sense," he replied. "You can't control yourself when you talk about her. At your apartment, you were so uncomfortable talking about her that you closed yourself off from the conversation."

Holy fucking shit, he was observant! I'd crossed my arms for what, less than five seconds? And he'd been able to tell from that alone that I was uncomfortable? What had he cross-referenced my actions with to know if I was lying about her or not? I was a good liar, so why did talking about her-Ooooh. I knew what he'd used as a reference. I'd lied flawlessly to Marcia and to Rebecca, but I couldn't even manage to keep my hands under control when I simply avoided the fact that my sister wasn't alive. That revelation was enough to remove any remaining anger I had and left me staring at him with my jaw on the floor. That was the second time he'd managed to get my jaw to drop. If he kept it up, I was going to need chin reconstruction surgery.

"Holy shit, you're good," I said, my eyes wide with shock. "No wonder you're the Avengers' golden child. You don't miss a thing."

"I'm not the golden child," he said, a little frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fine. But you're still damn good. Most people wouldn't have picked up on any of that," I stated.

"I just know what to look for," he said, shrugging his sculpted shoulders. "At least with you, anyway. It's also a little bit like being in a fight. You watch the person's body to see what they're going to do or to see what they're thinking of doing."

Something told me he was being humble. Not surprising, but he had to know that what he'd done was impressive. I got what he meant, of course, about the fighting and how easy it was to read me when it came to my sister, but still, it was impressive. I knew plenty of people, plenty of agents, who wouldn't have put those puzzle pieces together. The fact that some of them wouldn't have been able to put those pieces together with a picture guide to help them was completely irrelevant.

"Still impressive," I said with a shrug.

I noticed that I still had the towel in my hands. Well, I'd already decided that I wasn't going to be needing it anymore, and dropping it on the floor was just rude. Looks like it was going back in to the bathroom where it belonged. I actually started turning to go put it back when Steve stood and held his hand out to me.

"I'll take it," he said, moving closer to me. "I'll be heading in there anyway. I need a shower, too."

Not only was he observant, he was observant and quick. My eyes scanned up and down his arm for a second before I made any move to hand over the towel. His arms were big enough that I couldn't even wrap my hands around a single one of his biceps. I also just noticed that he had a shirt on. Where the hell was my brain this morning?! Oh, right. It was in the land of Lack Of Coffee and Emotional Turmoil. It said something for my state of mind that I wasn't noticing things that were glaringly obvious, and there I was silently criticizing Steve for not having his shit together. I made a vow to myself to make another cup of fresh coffee so I could be at the top of my game.

With a shrug, and a shove of my thoughts to the darkest depths of my mind, I handed the towel to Steve and said, "Okay. Thank you."

He gave me a smile that almost made my legs turn in to goo. It was charming, but not in the way that said he knew he was being charming. It was warm, and almost as full of light as Rebecca's had been. Her smile had been more of a halogen light, though, while his was more like the soft glow of a summer sunset. Oh, man, what I would give for him to smile like that all the time. Especially at me. No! No, don't become attracted to the charges! Bad agent! Bad! I mentally slapped myself just as Steve said something and walked off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone and astounded.

"You're welcome," he'd said.

Oh, I was welcome. Welcome to get my head out of the clouds. I waited until the bathroom door closed to let out a heavy sigh and go make myself another cup of coffee.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The second cup of coffee was just as good as the first, and this time I got to drink it all. Maybe now I'd be observant enough to notice what Steve was or was not wearing. The cup of coffee that I'd left on the couch had been removed by the time I got out of the shower. I had an inkling that Steve had poured it out and thrown the cup away. The fact that there were two cups in the trash can rather than just one told me I was right. Look at how observant I was already!

Newly refreshed and fully awake, I sat myself on the couch where my old coffee cup had been and turned the laptop toward me. My file had been closed and all that was left on the screen was the scan that I'd started running the day before. Unfortunately, there were still no hits on any cameras in the city. I contemplated expanding the search, but I figured it was still too early to do so. Barnes had popped up on the radar only yesterday. Surely he couldn't have gotten that far out of the city without any cameras noticing him. Right? Then again, this was the infamous Winter Soldier we were talking about. As far as I knew, he was all the way in the Bahamas by now pulling planes out of the sky. Hey, if he could pull a disappearing act like this, he had to have some other David Copperfield shit under his sleeve, right? Yeah, maybe expanding that search wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

I actually went to expand the search when two things happened at once. Steve came out of the bathroom and someone knocked on the door. My eyes flicked up, automatically suspicious of the person at the door. Who the hell was knocking? It sure as hell wasn't the maid service. Or it shouldn't have been, anyway. They usually cleaned the rooms when the customer was gone, like little ninja ghost maids. You'd leave the room with the sheets practically hanging off of the bed, come back an hour later, and have a new set of sheets neatly tucked in around the mattress and a nice mint on your pillow. Ninja ghost maids: not as cool as Space Ghost, but still pretty neat.

Steve walked around the partition, effectively drawing my attention away from ninja ghost maids and the fact, or probability, rather, that they were not the ones outside of our door right now. Steve's blond hair still slightly damp from his shower, but it would probably dry by the time we left the room. It was brushed and styled to perfection, with a soft wave of hair sweeping to the left. He had on a regular blue t-shirt, making me thank whatever gods that were listening that I didn't have to worry about popping buttons anymore. Then again, I did have to deal with the shirt hugging every curve of his every muscle. I wasn't sure if that was a step up or down from the straining shirt buttons. I did know that it was distracting as all hell and definitely not good for me. I was already trying to keep myself from being attracted to him, at least on a purely physical level. This shirt wasn't helping me. No shirt seemed to help me when it came to Steve, actually. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said his massive torso had become sentient and was actively refusing to be hidden under layers of cloth. Thankfully, his bottom half hadn't caught up with his torso in not wanting to be well hidden. A pair of jeans hung loose around his lower half, no longer giving me the perfect silhouette of his ass. That was helping me. I counted it as a sort of win.

I also counted the fact that I could tear my eyes away from his body as a win. I didn't think I had enough will power to do that this morning, even with coffee. Go me for proving me wrong. I made myself gaze up in to that handsome face and was met with an unspoken question. Who the hell was at the door? I have him a shrug, raised eyebrows, and downturned lips in response. I had no fucking idea. There was a very easy way to find out, though.

I lifted a hand, telling him stay where he was, rethought that, and had him move in to the sink area of the bathroom. He was already in the direct line of fire if someone shot through the door right now. I doubted they would, but I still had to take all possibilities in to account. Putting him in the bathroom area, which you couldn't see even from the fully open door, was the safest thing I could do for him. They'd try to shoot me first, which would give him time to get a battle strategy ready. Good to see that gawking at him hadn't completely affected how I did my job. Maybe it was a good sign of things to come?

Once Steve was safely out of sight, I stood, letting my bare feet glide me across the carpet as I drew my weapon. I pointed the barrel at the ceiling and clicked off the safety. Our door, like so many other hotel doors, had a nice little peephole. I wanted a peephole for my apartment. Not that it would take the edge off of my paranoia or anything. Me being the short shit I was, I had to brace a hand against the door and stand on tiptoe to look through the peephole. There are perks to being short. Peepholes were not one of those perks. Someone could easily shoot me through the door right now and kill me. Nevermind. I didn't want a peephole for my apartment.

A man with dark brown hair and black eyes nestled in to a tanned, masculine face was waiting out in the hallway. He wore what looked like a hotel uniform. The blue blazer matched Rebecca's, and I was betting he was wearing a matching pair of slacks. White gloves covered his hands, which rested on the long edge of a food cart that was pressed up against the door. Had Steve called down for room service? Did they even offer room service here? I guessed they did. And if they didn't, we were trapped like rats, or something not as cliché.

I pushed away from the door just as the man knocked again so I could patter over to Steve. He was staying absolutely still in the nook of the bathroom, as if he was trying to listen for something that would give away what was going on. He looked far too big to be standing there in the small space that had been carved out for the sinks. I clicked the safety back on as I moved toward him, assessing how the bathroom had seemed to shrink around him. It was a little unnerving for someone to be so big that walls and ceilings seemed to disobey the laws of physics.

One hand lifted away from the gun, wiggling at him to lower himself down to my level. I stood next to him in that nook that he took up too much space in, my gun pointed at the ceiling and away from him. Like a good soldier who did well with nonverbal commands, he bent low enough to breathe across my skin and hear my whispered question.

"Did you call room service?" I asked, staring in to his blue eyes from inches away.

We were way too close for comfort, but this was the only way the man in the hall wouldn't hear us. We were so close, in fact, that I could actually see the details in his eyes. His eyes were the color of deep ocean water, a bright blue with a hint of underlying darkness to it. A ring a shade or two darker lined those ocean blue irises, and flecks of light brown peeked out at me around his pupils. His eyelashes were long and thick and dark, and if I didn't have an even better set of eyelashes on me, I'd have been extremely jealous. Most women paid good money to get eyelashes that looked like his. It wasn't fair that men got the good lashes while women had to pay for that shit. It just wasn't fair, man. I had to admit, at least to myself, that I got myself lost in his eyes. I was suddenly struggling against the waves of the deep sea, trying to pull back in to myself. I'd wanted to drown earlier, and now I was.

And from the looks of things, I wasn't the only one drowning. His eyes widened as I studied them, a look passing through those ocean blue depths that I hadn't expected from him. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have said I'd seen lust swim through those eyes as he studied me. Knowing the Captain, though, it was probably just surprise or recognition or some other similar emotion. But something about the weight and pull of his gaze had changed as he'd stared in to my eyes, so much so that I found myself choking on sea water until I couldn't draw in a breath. My chest hurt with the need to breathe, with the need to escape those captivating eyes with their unknowable emotion that kept dragging me under the rolling waves.

A third knock at the door emptied the water from my lungs and broke both of our concentration. Shit! Shit, shit, fuck! This was bad! This was really bad! We'd gotten lost in each other with possible danger looming just outside of the doorway. Neither of us would be able to function on this mission if we kept doing shit like that. Shit, this was bad. I'd have to call Fury and tell him I couldn't do this, tell him I was emotionally compromised. That should get me off of the case, right? But was I really that emotionally compromised? I mean, I'd told him to stand in the bathroom nook for his protection, which meant I was doing my job and doing it well. But then again, I had stared at him and lost myself so completely that a potential bad guy could have easily kicked down the door and killed us both without us even flinching. Fuck!

I realized that my eyes were still on Steve, but they'd moved down to stare at that perfect mouth of his. Oh, that so didn't help me! I lowered my eyes more until my gaze was level with his throat. Not the best of moves, that, because Steve swallowed hard enough that I could hear it, that I could see the muscles in his throat working around something big. Something big like the bitter candy of unspoken words and unrealized emotions. No! Don't focus on that! Focus on the job. You have to focus on the job, Dani!

Steve took a deep, almost shuddering breath in and said, "No. No, I didn't order room service."

I had just enough time to thank the gods that he wasn't wearing a button down because that one intake of breath puffed his chest out enough to strain against the fabric of his shirt before I realized that we were in some serious shit. Whoever was outside of our room was here to either capture us or kill us, and my money was on the latter. I was betting he wouldn't use a gun. It would be too loud, too messy, and it would draw way too much attention. He probably had a knife of some sort, or was well trained in hand-to-hand combat. He knocked on the door again, and only now did he announce that he was room service. He had to be the raisin oatmeal cookie in the chocolate chip cookie jar: different, out of place, and shitty.

"Stay here until I tell you to move," I whispered to Steve.

He looked like he didn't like the order at all. Frustration flicked through his eyes, so fast that it had been difficult to detect. However, he nodded and stayed put while I clicked off the safety on the gun and quietly moved toward the door. I wasn't adverse to using firepower if it meant keeping me and my charge alive, so I pressed the barrel to the wood, right where the man's chest was, and opened the door.

"Come on in," I said with a smile. "Sorry it took me so long to answer the door. I was in the shower."

It was a perfect lie, seeing as my hair was still damp. The man, who was about five foot eight, wheeled the cart in with his own happy little smile, trying to be as unassuming and normal as possible. Nothing to see here, folks. I'm just your average Joe working in a hotel, not some hired killer or anything. There wasn't much room for the cart, so the man had to stop in front of the television. The cart had two sets of meals on it, both covered with those metal domes that keep the food warm, which let me know that whoever had sent him knew that Steve was with me. Fuck. To my surprise, the man actually started lifting those little metal domes off of the food as he spoke.

"That's alright, miss. It happens all the time," he said.

His voice was cheerful enough to make me want to gag. Either he was trying too hard, or his cover was being a super sweet dude. I wasn't buying the super sweet dude thing. As he lifted the domes, I got a good look at the food he'd brought us. One meal was French toast with a side of breakfast sausage and eggs and a glass of orange juice. The other was a country fried steak with scrambled eggs and bacon on the side with a cup of black coffee for a drink. I didn't know Pittsburg new what country fried steak was. Of all the things, the country fried steak instantly put me on edge. What put me more on edge is that the steak knife that should have gone with the country fried steak was nowhere in sight. I closed the door behind the man as I scanned the back of his body for the knife hilt. The blazer was loose enough to hide a gun and a holster, so I doubted I'd be able to see a knife hilt under the thick fabric.

Once the door was closed, I raised my gun and pointed it at the back of the man's head. He was an idiot, that was for damn sure. He hadn't even tried looking around the door to see if I had a weapon, let alone a shoulder holster. I'd already clicked off the safety, so I didn't get to click it back off so I could get the satisfaction of having him turn around looking all scared.

"That looks really good," I said, my own voice still that of a happy, unaware customer. "But where's the steak knife for the country fried steak?"

The man suddenly reached down in front of himself and whirled around. The steak knife was in his hand and poised to strike. Poised to strike, that is, until he saw my gun aimed between his eyes. He stopped mid-motion, wide black eyes settled on me. Oh, he hadn't been expecting anyone to get the drop on him. He hadn't expected a fight this soon. Moron. My finger slipped around the trigger, ready to pull if he tried anything stupid. I let all of the air out of my body, sighting my eye down the barrel of the gun. When I spoke, my voice was as devoid of emotion as a robot's.

"Drop the knife and kick it over here," I ordered.

He didn't obey. But of course he wouldn't. Instead, he hurled the steak knife at my face. I had a split second decision to make. Shoot him and lose my only chance of finding out why he was there and possibly end up with a knife in my face, or scare the hell out of him until he spilled the beans. Guess which one I was going for. My finger left the trigger as my power wrapped around the knife and halted it in mid spin. The tip of the blade was only an inch away from my nose. Son of a bitch. He was good at throwing knives that weren't mean to be thrown. What he wasn't good at was staring a mutant in the eyes without flinching. Actually, from the look on his face, he'd probably shit his pants. Only time and smell would tell.

My left hand unwrapped itself from the gun to grab the knife. I propped my right wrist on top of my left wrist as if I were a cop holding a flashlight under her gun. Now I had both the knife and the gun pointed at the man. Cool. I had a makeshift bayonet type of deal.

"Move and I blow your fucking brains out," I said.

I was told I was one scary bitch when I was working. I could see why people would think that. I didn't even sound angry that he'd thrown a knife at me. I just sounded bored. Angry is so much better than bored because at least you know there's still some semblance of a conscience in that human body. Bored meant that no one was home, or worse, they didn't care. Apathy is so much scarier than rage. Apparently our bad guy didn't think I was scary, or he had a death wish, because he tried to rush me. Idiot. My power lashed out, grabbing a hold of him and slamming him sideways in to the jutted out portion of wall that held the television. I pinned his body there, not wanting to risk him lashing out as I went to stand in front of him. If this dude was Hydra, he did have a death wish, and there were plenty of ways to fulfill that wish, like attacking me or eating cyanide. In fact, from the files I'd read about them, Hydra's covert agents had little cyanide capsules encased in a fake tooth. If they ever got caught, they loosened the tooth, bit down on the capsule, and their captor was without a torture toy.

The man was stunned enough from the force and shock of being thrown in to a wall that he didn't even think of his pill until I was standing right in front of him. He opened his mouth, letting his tongue flick his bottom left canine out of its spot in his gums. My gun found its way between his teeth before he had the chance to bite down. Let's hear it for being quick.

"Steve," I said, "do me a favor and grab a handful of toilet paper and bring it to me. Please and thank you."

I didn't know if he'd actually heard me until the sounds of ripping paper came from the bathroom. I stared in the man's dark eyes and realized that they weren't black. They were such a dark, rich brown that they only looked black, and they were filled with terror. Once again, I let my power ooze out, let it slip in to his mouth and grab the lone fake tooth. With a quick flex of my powers, the tooth came out of the man's mouth and hovered in the air just in front of his face. Steve chose that moment to come out of the bathroom with carefully folded squares of toilet paper. Perfect. No, really. It was perfect. I wasn't going to touch that tooth with my bare hands. I didn't know where this guy had been and I sure as hell didn't want his mouth funk on me.

Steve walked around the food service cart and went to hand the toilet paper to me before he saw that I had no free hands. I still had the knife in my left hand, and I'd moved my wrist back so I didn't stab our captive in the throat while I jutted my gun between his pearly whites. The tip of the knife was pressing in to the man's throat, though, enough to make the skin dimple. Carefully, I clicked the safety on my gun and drew it out of the man's mouth. Ugh, I was going to have to clean it really well. At that moment, I settled for wiping the barrel on my jeans before I holstered it. I had what I needed and I wasn't going to kill the guy until he told me what I wanted to know, so there was no more need for the gun right then. Nor was there a need for the knife, because I had this mother fucker pinned.

I pulled away, taking the knife and the gravity-defying tooth with me. I silently held my hand out for the toilet paper, which Steve obligingly handed over. I grabbed the tooth out of the air with my covered hand and carefully folded it in to the paper. I raised the newly wrapped tooth up and motioned it toward the nameless Hydra agent.

"I'm keeping this," I said. I flicked my eyes over to Steve and added a quick "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said with a nod.

His eyes weren't on me when he said it, though. They were on the man that I had pinned to the wall. I cast a glance at the man over my shoulder before slipping the knife between my belt and the jeans that hugged the curves of my butt. I knew the guy wasn't going anywhere. Not unless he could suddenly break free from a telekinetic hold. I turned to face the man, putting Steve at my back. I don't know what was on my face, but as soon as the man caught the full weight of my gaze, he flinched. Well, he flinched as much as he could with my power holding him in place.

Without a second glance at Steve, I moved forward toward our new Hydra captive. He made a strangled sound low in his throat, as if he were trying to not scream. What the hell was going on with my face that made him that terrified? Or was it just the powers that I'd shown him? Either way, this was a good start. Once I stood in front of the man, I turned my face to Steve, giving him the full view of whatever horrors were painted on my face. I saw his eyes narrow a little, a little flinch that I wouldn't have caught if I hadn't been staring right at him. Shit. I was scary enough to make the Cap flinch. Then again, he knew exactly what I could do, so I didn't blame him for being at least a little worried. I turned back to the man.

"Name," I ordered the man. "Give it."

There was no wiggle room in my tone, nothing that told him that he had another choice besides giving me his name. I would get it one way or another. He might as well do it voluntarily.

"Thompson," he said, his voice a shaky whisper. "What the hell are you?"

I held up a reprimanding finger and frowned at him. "Aht. I ask the questions, Thompson. Not you. Got any recording devices on you? Anything that your bosses are listening to or can listen to?"

Thompson tried to shake his head, but I held it steadfast with my power.

"Words, Thompson. Exercise those vocal chords," I ordered. Gods, I sounded like a drill sergeant.

"No," he said, his voice a bit steadier this time.

"Don't lie to me, Thompson. I don't like bein' lied to," I said. It was a total bluff, but you didn't just send a man in without giving him some kind of backup, be it a recording device, a gun, or a mic. They hadn't given him a gun, so I was betting on a mic, at least. And I really didn't like being lied to.

My entire demeanor had switched. I was no longer the sweet agent meant to protect Steve. I was the deadly mutant assassin from the South that would torture you until you begged for death…that was meant to protect Steve. Hell, even my accent had slipped back to a good ole country girl, which told anyone who knew me just how much they didn't want to fuck with me right then. When the Southerner comes out, it means I'm so pissed that you're fucked or it means I'm so apathetic that you're fucked. Either way, it won't end well for you if my accent spilled out of my mouth.

"Yes," Thompson whispered. His voice had gotten breathy between his answers. Good. It meant he was smart enough to be scared.

I didn't want to touch him so I could find the hidden mic. That wouldn't be scary enough. I wanted him, needed him, to be terrified of me. Most of the agents I knew would have just cut him up, but I wasn't very keen on spilling blood when I knew it could be traced back to me. Plus, I had other, better methods for getting information. Just like Dr. Frank-N-Furter said in Rocky Horror Picture show, "A good mindfuck can be nice."

So, I mindfucked him. I lashed those hot tendrils of power out until they grabbed a hold of the front of that blue blazer and the white shirt underneath. With one simple flex of my mind, the fabric ripped open to expose a tan expanse of muscled chest that had a healthy helping of hair. I even thought I heard a small whimper under the sound of tearing cloth. My scare tactic was working. I took a moment to shift my eyes over his now bare skin. He actually had a nice body. It was nothing compared to Steve's, but it would still make a lesser lady swoon. Unfortunately, there wasn't a mic taped to his chest. Of course they wouldn't go that route. Hydra had better technology than that. Gods, I was a dumbass sometimes.

I turned Thompson's head, tearing his right ear away from the wall so I could look in to it. And there it was. A nice little earpiece that was so small and discreet that I would have missed it if I hadn't looked directly in to his ear. Again, I wasn't touching that. I used my power to pluck it out of his ear and throw it on the ground. There was really nothing around for me to crush it with, seeing as how I didn't have my boots on. I looked around for something, anything, to destroy the device with. A quick, sudden crunch brought my attention back to the ear piece. It was now located under Steve's heel. Leave it to the super soldier to crush electronics under his bare foot. I gave him a quick thank you nod before turning back to Thompson.

"Now that that's over and you don't have any voices in your head, we have some questions. I suggest you answer 'em honestly unless you wanna have all your teeth pulled out one by one," I said.

A smile that was more of a baring of teeth split my face and made Thompson fold in on himself a little. Not literally. He couldn't move enough to do it literally, but his body just seemed to get smaller, like a child trying to hide from the monsters. I motioned one hand to Steve, then gestured toward Thompson, letting my charge know that this guy was all his. Steve stepped forward as I stepped back, letting his tall stature and massive body be his intimidation tactic. It worked pretty well, but not well enough. Thomson uncurled himself a little, as if he knew that Steve wouldn't hurt him. What was I? Chopped liver? Did my threats mean nothing as long as I was out of sight? The Captain didn't let Thompson's idiocy deter him.

"Where's Bucky?" Steve asked.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I gave Steve major points for his voice being bland. I had expected him to be a bit more emotional. Maybe he was taking a page from my book? Nah. He must've had his own little strategies for getting people to talk, or at least be scared.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Thompson said, defiance seeping in to his tone.

His eyes were getting back some of their fire, and anger swirled in those dark eyes. Poor baby. He thought he could take the Captain. What was worse, he thought he could take on the Captain and me. Moron.

"I know you're an idiot, Thompson, but you're not that stupid," I said. "The Winter Soldier. Where is he?"

"I don't know," he said. Some of that defiance slipped away. Goody.

"Remember what I said about lying?"

"I really don't know!" he cried. He was getting scared again. Apparently he was more afraid of me than he was of Steve. I didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, but I went with it anyway. As long as it got him to talk, I was happy with playing bad cop. "We followed you. We thought you knew where he was."

"We?" Steve asked.

"Hydra," Thompson clarified. "Hydra wanted you followed."

"If you were just supposed to follow us, then why did you make a move to attack us?" Steve asked.

"I didn't-"

"Lying, Thompson. Lying," I stated.

"I mean it! I didn't want to attack you. I was supposed to dose you with some weird chemical that would make you talk and just leave. I wasn't supposed to kill you. I swear," Thompson said.

His voice was almost a whimper now, and if I'd had a heart in that moment, I'd have felt sorry for him. However, my heart was black just then so I didn't give even half a shit about how terrified he was. If anything, his terror made me happy. It meant he would talk more freely. It's amazing how much fear can loosen one's tongue.

"So, let me get this right," I said, stepping up next to Steve. "You dosed the food with some truth serum bullshit so you could find out where Barnes was, but you took the steak knife. Why?"

"I had to protect myself if you tried to attack me," he said.

His tone was matter-of-fact enough that it made me wonder if his fear was finally starting to diminish. Mmm, nah. He was probably just trying to control himself so he didn't seem weak. Then again, we were being pretty civil right now, and that could dial anyone's fear down a couple of notches. That whole being civil thing would change pretty soon, but he didn't have to know that. Not just yet, anyway.

"Wouldn't that negate trying to get us to talk?" I asked. "You threw the knife at my face. I can't talk if I'm dead, honeybunch."

His eyes flicked between me and Steve. There was something he wasn't telling us. I narrowed my eyes at him, making sure that they promised worlds of pain and anguish if he didn't spill all of the beans. Now was an odd time to clam up. He'd already told us what they'd planned to do, so why shut up now? I didn't like it.

"You gotta talk, Thompson, or I will be very angry," I said.

"Let me guess," Thompson said, sarcasm suddenly dripping from his words. He was getting cocky. I didn't like that. "I won't like you when you're angry."

Oh, the hell no he didn't. I was not the Hulk. I was almost as bad, but I wasn't the Hulk. I felt my eyes go completely dead, felt all of the emotion wash away under a surge of anger. Thompson's eyes flinched and all of that macho sarcasm fell away to reveal the scared agent that we'd been talking to all long. I lifted my right hand up, my palm facing the ceiling. I channeled my power in to my hand, letting the power form a tight ball just above the skin of my hand. With one thought, the ball burst in to flame. Thompson's dark eyes widened until I thought they might pop out of their sockets. I fought to not smile at the fear that had suddenly reclaimed his features. Nothing like the threat of being burned to make you want to piss your pants.

"If you wouldn't talk, I was told to kill you," he looked at me, then glanced at Steve, "and bring you in, along with whatever information you had."

"Why bring him in?" I asked.

"Because the super soldier serum is locked away in my DNA," Steve explained.

I looked up at him, slightly startled. I wasn't expecting him to answer, especially not with that. I didn't remember that being in his file. I guess I didn't have access to all of the classified information after all. My surprise was quickly wiped from my features as I turned back to Thompson. Well, at least now we knew Hydra's plan. That was good. Now on to the next, incredibly important question.

"How did you know where to find us?" I asked.

"Surveillance footage," Thompson said. "We've been running a scan for Barnes and Rogers. When you checked in last night, I was immediately sent to get information."

Shit. I hated it when the bad guys shared my ideas. I also hated it that now we couldn't go anywhere without Hydra riding our asses. Fucking fantastic. We'd have to find somewhere else to go. Somewhere that didn't have cameras. How the hell were we going to manage that? That one thought wiped my brain of all other questions and left my mind screaming that we had to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. Did Thompson come with backup? Did they know what our vehicle looked like? How far out did their search go?

"Steve, do you have any more questions?" I asked.

I carefully slipped the steak knife out from between my belt and jeans as I waited for his reply. He glanced at me, giving me a questioning look as to why I suddenly had the knife in my hand again. I didn't answer his unspoken question. He'd find out soon enough.

"No," he replied, "I don't."

"Good. Now look away, because you're not going to like this," I said.

I stepped forward with the knife in my hand and used my power to pull Thompson's arms out straight in front of him. My power flipped his arms over until his palms were facing the ceiling. I took another step forward only to have a hand grab my shoulder. Dead eyes glared at the hand, not liking the warm touch stopping me from my mission. My eyes followed the arm attached to the hand all the way up to the strong line of Steve's jaw, his perfect pink lips, his slim nose, and finally those sea water eyes. I met those eyes that I'd gotten lost in less than half an hour before hand and felt nothing but frustration. He was stopping me from doing my job. It bothered me.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes flickering with a hint of anger.

"Something you won't like," I replied, "but something that needs to be done. Now let me go and look away."

"No, Dani. Tell me what you're going to do," he insisted.

He held my dead eyes like no one I'd ever seen before. Yeah, he'd flinched earlier, but he hadn't been prepared then. Now that he was prepared, it was almost like he was staring at the real Dani, the normal Dani who held so much emotion in her eyes. He met my empty gaze with anger and stubbornness, and he held it. No one held that gaze. I didn't know if I should be impressed or worried. I went with impressed, but didn't let him see it. If I remembered, I'd tell him how I felt about it later on.

"You really wanna do this in front of him?" I asked, motioning the knife toward Thompson.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Fine," I said, my top lip pulling up until it was almost a sneer. "I'm gonna carve a message in to his arms and throw him out the window to fall six stories to his death. Ya happy now?"

"No," he said, his eyes darkening. "I'm not. You're not carving anything in to him and you're not dropping him to his death. He doesn't deserve that. He's walking out of here."

"No, he's not," I said.

"Good people don't torture and murder other people," Steve said suddenly.

That one hit me like a blow to the sternum, the force so hard that I had to fight to not stagger backward. Excuse him? Was I suddenly not a good person anymore? This Hydra agent and his imminent death was what made me a bad person? I turned to face Steve, thoroughly pissed off now. The knife transferred itself to my left hand and suddenly my right palm was planted on hard abs. The feel of his body under my fingers almost made me stop, almost made me rethink my actions. He just felt so firm, so good. Good. He didn't think I was good. I shoved him away from me, forcing him to stumble back and take his hand off of my shoulder.

"This ain't about bein' good, Steve. This is about stayin' alive, about doin' my job and keepin' _you_ alive. Goddamit, he can't live. The second he walked through that door, he was a dead man. He walks out of here, you know what's gonna happen? He's gonna totter off to his superiors and tell them what happened here, tell 'em there's dissention in the ranks over what should and should not be done. Tell 'em that you got yourself a pretty little Southern belle that can move shit with her mind and make fuckin' fire in her hands. Then, the next time they come for us, we'll have lost our surprise advantage. They'll kill me, they'll take you, they'll torture you, they'll kill you. Hell, even if he doesn't go runnin' back to his Hydra momma, they'll find him again. They'll drag him back and force him to talk using torture neither you nor I could imagine. Then he'll be fucked just as much as we are. This ain't about bein' good. It's about bein' efficient. You don't let the bad guys live because it always comes back and bites you in the ass."

My Southern accent was thick by the time I was done, and Steve's eyes had lost a bit of their hardness under my tirade. I was right. He knew I was right, but he didn't like it. Of course he didn't. He was supposed to protect people, and he usually tried to injure people before he tried to kill them. Even in the war, he'd tried to minimize casualties. Now here I was telling him the very alive man in front of him had to die here and now, if not for our good, then for his own. If Thompson ran, Hydra would find him and torture the information out of him in the worst possible ways, and then, because they were Hydra, they'd probably just torture him for fun before they finally killed him.

"You're not carving anything in to his arms," Steve said after a few moments of silence. "And you're going to close his eyes so he doesn't see the ground before he hits it."

I stared up at him, trying to will myself to hear him. He was being reasonable. I could do that too if I could just shake the remaining anger. But dammit, I couldn't. I'd used too much strength earlier to will myself to feel nothing, and now I couldn't swallow my anger. I was too exhausted already, and I was too wrapped up in being a stone cold deadly agent to even try to control my anger. I could only shut myself down so much before it became almost impossible to not feel something. Unfortunately, that something usually seemed to be anger. An anger I couldn't think around. An anger I didn't know how to deal with.

Something in the back of my brain pushed me forward. It knew what to do to help me deal with the anger, and it was going to make me do it. I walked toward Steve, who'd stayed where he'd staggered only minutes before. My right hand was up again, reaching for him without me telling it to. Steve's body tensed slightly as I reached out to him, as if he thought I was going to push him in to the door. I wasn't. I gently placed my hand over the spot I'd used to shove him away and took in a deep, shaking breath as his body lost its tension under my touch.

He was so solid. The shirt did nothing to disguise how hard the muscles under his warm skin were. The shirt also did nothing to dispel that comforting body heat. My anger slowly melted away, as if touching him grounded me, made me more human again. The feel of his body under my hand calmed me, made my cloudy mind suddenly clear again. I pressed a little harder, trying to feel every rise and curve of his abs under the material of his shirt. Only then did I notice that my eyes were closed. Good. I really didn't want to see his face right now. He probably thought I was crazy, probably didn't want me touching him right now, but we all needed me to calm down before I did something stupid, and this was the only thing I could think of.

With my eyes still closed, and in a voice too breathy to be good for anyone's libido, I said "Say it again."

He was silent for a long time, as if he didn't know what I was talking about, or even doing, but finally his voice floated to my ears. It was calm and soft, but firm, almost….well, I would say intimate but that just felt wrong. As if what I was doing wasn't wrong enough already.

You're not carving anything in to his arms, and you're going to keep his eyes closed so he doesn't see the ground," he repeated.

I took another deep breath in, so deep it puffed my chest out. I could think again. I was back to being logical and reasonable. I knew what I could do instead of carving Thompson's arms up. I even knew I could hold his eyes closed if he wanted me to. It was only fair. Yes, he was a bad guy who was there to potentially kill us, but that didn't mean we couldn't take the high road in killing him. As I let the breath out, I nodded, agreeing to Steve's terms.

"Okay," I said.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, readying myself to nod again, to reinforce with myself what I was going to do. I never got around to that second nod. Steve's eyes, gods, his eyes. I'd never seen someone look at me like that. It was confusion, sadness, happiness, caring, trust, and what looked like lust rolled in to one knee-shaking stare. I didn't know where the sadness came from, but oh, I wanted to. I wanted to take that emotion and pull it out of him like it was a strip of cloth, pull it out hand over fist and set it aflame so it could never touch those handsome eyes again. So it could never impede on such a miraculously beautiful moment ever again.

I dropped my hand away from his chest and immediately felt the loss. Why? Why did he affect me like this? Why, of all the people in the world, did my charge ground and calm me through touch, of all things? His eyes said he felt the loss, too, that he hadn't wanted me to pull away. I couldn't handle it. Of all things, having a charge, having Steve, look at me like that…it was too much for me to bear. I couldn't have him, shouldn't have him, and I knew that. I knew what we could and couldn't do, and this was one of those things that was on the "Nope" list. Getting so close, physically or emotionally, was a big no-no.

But, all it took was less than twenty-four hours for me to feel more connected to him than to anyone else in my life. Everyone except for Katie, that is. Katie and I'd had a bond that had started the moment I'd seen her, the moment I'd held her. I'd felt something click with Steve the first time I'd seen him, but I thought it was just me being starstruck. In reality, it was me forming a deep, unexplainable bond with a stranger, just like I'd done with Katie. It was a different type of bond because Steve wasn't family, but it was there, and it was too strong for words. This was so unprofessional it hurt, so illogical that it had my mind spinning as to why in the hell it was happening. This sucked. A lot. And I had to put a stop to it. But how?

I'd dropped my gaze to the knife that was still in my left hand, and I hadn't even known I'd done it. I could stare down the most evil people in all of creation, but have one man look at me with such extreme emotion and I simply couldn't handle it. I wondered what that said about me as a person. More than that, I wondered how I could stop feeling so connected to Steve. But there was no time to figure that out now. We had a Hydra agent we had to deal with. With one quick, smooth motion, the knife was back between my belt and my jean-clad butt, and I was pointing toward the dry bar.

"There's a pad of paper and a pen over there," I said, carefully not looking at Steve. "Take the top piece of paper off of the pad and write exactly what I tell you."

Steve did so, making sure that he listened carefully when I told him how to spell the words. Once he was finished, I walked back up to Thompson. He was still stuck against the wall and the expression on his face said that he'd seen what I'd felt. He'd seen the unspoken, completely unprofessional connection, and it was giving him ideas. If we let him go, he would go straight to Hydra and tell them that the impossible Southern Belle and Captain America had some sort of emotional connection, and they would use it against us as effectively as any weapon in their arsenal. There are so many reasons you don't fall for your charges, and that right there, that promise of emotional torture, is one of them.

"Steve, fold the paper and put it in his back pocket, please. Make sure it can't slip out," I said.

Steve moved behind Thompson as I stared in to dark eyes that were finally starting to understand that he wasn't walking away from this. We'd had the entire conversation about killing him in front of him, but he'd gotten so wrapped up in our little show and in his own plans that he'd forgotten him imminent demise. Nice to know I wasn't the only one that had a tendency to forget important shit. Here's hoping I didn't die because of it.

"Do you want your eyes opened or closed while you fall?" I asked him.

"You're keeping his eyes closed," Steve said as he came back around Thompson. Like my voice earlier, his gave no leeway, no choice other than the one he gave me. Too bad for him, I was being reasonable again and I knew that I had other options.

"It's his choice," I replied. "It's his death. He chooses how he gets to go out. Open or closed, Thompson?"

Thompson swallowed, opened his mouth, closed his mouth, then said, "Open. I'm not going to be a chicken shit about it."

I nodded, letting my scary agent coat slip back on. I took off a bit of the scary, though, and dialed it down to indifference. He was going to die. I didn't care that he was going to die. I didn't care if he wanted his eyes opened or closed. It didn't matter to me how he went out or if he saw himself fall to his death. All that mattered was that he died and didn't go back to Hydra to rat us out.

"I admire your courage," I said, my voice emotionless once again. "That courage got you killed. I hope you know that."

"I know that," Thompson said, trying to nod. My power was still wrapped around his body, keeping him immobile so that nodding was impossible.

"Good."

I moved toward the windows, letting my power lift Thompson off of the ground and float him along behind me. Steve followed closely behind Thompson, as if the larger man would catch the agent if he tried to run. It wasn't physically possible for Thompson to run away, but I appreciated Steve's ambition. We made our way across the room to the beds so I could stand in front of the windows. I couldn't actually open the window, though. It was a liability to have windows that open when you're six stories up. There had to be a way to open the window. My eyes glanced around the room. I could see the chair at the desk opposite the dry bar, the one that I hadn't noticed when I was wanting to crush the ear piece, and flung my power out to grab it. I lifted it over the heads of both men before bringing it to hover in front of the window. With a quick glance at Thompson, I tried to estimate how many hits it would take him to break the glass, and applied the right amount of force behind the chair to collide it with the window. The glass cracked at the third hit. It was thick stuff.

"Any last words?" I asked Thompson as my power hurled the chair in to the window again.

The glass cracked more and I moved away. I motioned toward the bags between the beds, then motioned toward the door. Steve got the point and grabbed the bags so he could move them. We were going to have to run as soon as Thompson cleared the ledge. We had to make it look like we weren't in here when he'd decided to kill himself. Nevermind that any smart person would have just gone to the roof, but I doubted very many people who worked at the hotel had roof access, so this worked just as well. I moved Thompson in front of the window and moved his body in to a position that any man jumping out of a broken window would use: one hand out to steady themselves on the edge of the glass, body ducked down to get through the hole, knees slightly bent. The glass shattered and I dropped the chair next to Thompson. I shoved him forward to stand in the window, his shins touching the edges of the sharp glass.

"Hail Hydra," he whispered.

With one last pulse of my power, I threw him out of the window, making sure he cleared the ledge. Then, with the image of blood on broken glass burning into my brain, Steve and I ran.


	13. Chapter 13

(Possible edits later on)

Chapter 13

We were checking out of our room with Rebecca, using some bullshit story about my mother calling with a family emergency as the reason we were already leaving, just as a scream broke the morning air. Thompson, the Hydra agent-slash-room service boy who couldn't stand to live anymore, had been found. Rebecca finished checking us out just as a maid, dressed in a knee length navy blue A-line dress with white trim, came running in to the building yelling for Rebecca to call an ambulance. While Rebecca grabbed the phone and the maid tried to talk around her hysterics about the bloody man on the ground, Steve and I walked away. Typical humans. If it doesn't involve us, we don't care. Nevermind that it did involve us, but they didn't need to know that. Besides, we couldn't afford to care. If we stuck around too long, we'd be questioned by the cops. It was our room that he'd "jumped" out of, after all, and us leaving just before his body was found was awfully convenient.

However, I knew that everything the cops found would lead them to rule the death as a suicide. The man just snapped and took his own life. There was nothing to tie us to his death. Hell, the only thing that'd had my fingerprints on it in relation to Thompson was the steak knife, and I'd wiped that clean before setting it back on the food cart. Once we'd hit the elevator, I'd fished out my jacket and put it on before the doors slid open so I wouldn't draw any attention to the gun and shoulder holster. People might think that I forced Thompson to ump to his death by holding my gun to his head, and I didn't want that particular conclusion to be drawn. We needed to get out of there, so we did.

Steve and I had divided up the bags like we had before, still playing the happy, but now slightly worried couple. We kept up the rouse, simple as it was, as we walked outside to the car. We wouldn't be able to see Thompson from our parking spot, but I knew the statistics on falling to your death. It's incredibly rare for anyone to survive a fall from three stories or higher. It was a snowball's chance in hell that he'd survived. I wondered how the note in his back pocket had fared, if it had stayed put during his little flight. I wondered how Hydra would like our message to them. I'd had Steve write it in German. Roughly translated, it meant "The fall of Hydra is victory." I liked having the last word, especially if it made my enemies get antsy.

Once we reached the car, I got behind the wheel. It was obvious we couldn't go anywhere that had cameras. We were going to have to play it safe just like Barnes was. Dammit. Fortunately, I knew the perfect place for us to hide, hence why I was driving. My mother's family was originally from Pennsylvania. Well, they were originally from New York, but they'd moved to Pennsylvania when my mom was a kid. My grandparents had since moved down to Florida to be closer to their grandchildren and, you know, sunlight, but they still had the old family home up in the Pennsylvania countryside for when it got too hot down in the Sunshine State. Some snowbirds just couldn't take the heat and humidity. It was too convenient to pass up, and it was so far off the beaten path that it would take Hydra agents a while to get to us if they found out where we were. And if they did find us, we'd see them coming.

The two story house was settled on to several acres of bare land, so you could see anyone who drove up to the house. The grass was a little too high for my comfort, but my grandparents hadn't been here for a couple of months. It was a nice house, white with light blue trim and a white wrap-around porch. There was even a basement, if it could be called that, that had a full bar and a bunch of my grandfather's stuff. It was his man cave.

I'd filled Steve in on the drive over so he knew where we were going. He very carefully steered clear of talking about Thompson or the fact that I'd touched him way too intimately at the hotel. I followed his lead and did the same. I didn't want to think about why touching him comforted me. I'd had boyfriends who were almost as solid as Steve was, and they had never elicited that response from me. But was it just his body that grounded me, or was it all of him? Argh! I was thinking about why his touch comforted me! I didn't want to do that!

I was so happy when we pulled up to the house that I could have bounced in my seat. I didn't, but I could have. Now I could distract myself with movies and books and stuff that wasn't the man sitting next to me. I could completely ignore how he affected me, and that made me damn near giddy. Man, I sucked at dealing with crap I couldn't explain.

"Welcome to Hotel de Carulo," I said as I put the car in park.

"Carulo?" Steve asked. "Is that Italian?"

"Yep!" I chirped.

Yeah, I was happy. We were alive, Thompson was dead, Steve hadn't complained about me killing a guy, and he had left our weird emotional moments alone. Plus, I was back at my grandparents' house. Maybe today wasn't such a bad day after all. Super shitty morning, but maybe not such a bad day. I motioned for Steve to get out of the car at the same time that I took the keys out of the ignition.

"There's no one around for a few miles, so you're safe to get out first and grab your stuff," I explained.

He didn't question it. Good lad. I think he was glad to not be tied down with bodyguard rules anymore. With a click, he opened his door and made his way to the back passenger door. I slipped the keys in to my pocket as I got out and went to my back door. I didn't think we'd divided our stuff up so evenly that they would be on opposite sides of the car, but maybe stuff had moved during transit. As I reached for the door handle, Steve's voice floated on the wind to wrap around me.

"I have your bags," he said.

That stopped me for a second. I wasn't used to men being gentlemanly anymore. We didn't have very many genuinely nice guys anymore. Then again, maybe we never had and that was why Steve was chosen to be a super soldier over literally every other Army trainee in his camp. That and other reasons, like dropping flag poles by removing the pin and jumping on a grenade, but still, being a gentleman had to be in there somewhere.

I made my way around the front of the SUV, trying to not let the surprise and awe show on my face. If I did a poor job of it, Steve didn't say anything. He simply handed over my bags with another one of those naturally charming smiles that made my heart pound. I opened my mouth to speak and found that I had a rock in my throat that prevented me from doing so much as humming. Clearing my throat wasn't discreet, nor did it help what I thought was an already touchy situation, but I couldn't tell him my thanks if I couldn't talk. So I cleared my throat and hoped it wouldn't make the overall situation of "you turn me on and make me nervous simultaneously" any worse.

"Thank you," I managed as I took the bags.

That smile of his got brighter for some reason, and I saw humor in his eyes. Why was this funny? I didn't think it was funny. I thought it sucked. You weren't supposed to feel this way, or any kind of way, for your charge, dammit. Ugh, was it too late to sleep in the car and just avoid him for the rest of the mission? No? Mother fucker.

"You're welcome," he said.

He moved past me with his bags over one broad shoulder, leaving me standing next to the SUV trying to figure out what was so damn funny. I couldn't for the life of me figure it out. Had it been my face? Had I seemed too awed? No, no the humor sprang to life after I'd expressed my thanks. Why was thanking him funny? I didn't like not knowing. Was this why people were more attracted to mysterious folks? Because they just couldn't leave well enough alone so they had to try to pick the other person's brain via long term relationship? Oh, my head hurt. Steve's voice broke me of my thoughts. He was good at that, it seemed.

"Hey, Dani?" he said, putting a little lilt on the end to make it a question.

I turned to face him, letting my puzzlement show. He was walking backwards toward the house, leaving me behind even though I was the only one who knew where the key was. His previous humor had seeped out of his eyes to cover his entire handsome face, but there was something under there. Something I couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"You're um…"Oh, it was nervousness. That made sense. Wait, no it didn't. Why was he suddenly nervous? "You're the only one that knows how to get in to the house without breaking the door down. How are we getting inside?"

Not nervousness. It wasn't nervousness. It was confusion. Again. How, _how_ , did I manage to turn one of his primary emotions in to something as stupid as nervousness? Was I projecting my feelings on to him? I was nervous. I was so nervous that I still wasn't walking toward the house even though Steve had very clearly pointed out that I was the only one able to get us inside. Not like I hadn't known that before he said it, but even then, I hadn't moved so much as a toe toward the white porch. Why was I so damn nervous? Going in to buildings loaded down with bad guys didn't make me this nervous, so why did the prospect of going in to a house with one man make me feel like crawling in to the back of the SUV and hiding under the seats until it was time to go home? Oh. That's right. I was so attracted to him that his smile stopped my heart and his very touch calmed me, even though he was a charge and it was a big no-no to be attracted to him and I'd only known him for less than twenty-four hours but I still felt some weird, inexplicable, impossible deep connection to him, and I was pretty sure I was going to puke.

My world swam until I had to put a hand over my eyes. Turns out that when my mind raced, so did my heart, and my heart had done a fantastic job of dropping in to my stomach so it could run a few laps in the Anxiety Race. My chest was tight and panicky, which wasn't surprising seeing as how it had lost one of its most important organs to a hundred-yard stomach dash. I felt my hip hit the metal side of the SUV and turned to lean my butt against it, my hand still covering my eyes. I needed to call Fury. I couldn't do my job. I couldn't do this job. Give me anyone but Steve and I could do it, but something about him just turned my brain to mush. I was starting to get worried that I'd lose myself in him at a really important time and get us both killed. I didn't want him dead. I didn't want to deal with this.

A hand was suddenly on my upper left arm and I jerked away so hard that I dropped my bags and rammed my right shoulder into the window of the SUV. I let out a little grunt of pain, which only made Steve touch me again. No, I didn't want him touching me. Well, I did, but I didn't want to want it. Ugh, emotions are confusing!

"Dani, are you okay?" he asked, one large hand planting itself in the middle of my back.

The hand shifted until I could feel his thumb brushing the bottom of the bra band under my left arm. That hand once again gave me comfort, made my heart set itself back in its proper place and let my lungs breathe freely. My stomach felt better, and I didn't feel like puking anymore. My brain still felt like an emotional wreck, but it was almost like I was far away from the crash site and looking at it through binoculars. I wanted to push him away, but it felt so good to not be on a verge of a panic attack. His hand turned me until my back was pressed against the SUV again, and suddenly he was lifting my hand away from my eyes.

Too tall, slightly yellowed grass filled my vision, and then Steve was suddenly there, his worried blue eyes catching mine. He'd had to stoop down to see my face, to search for some sign as to what might be wrong. I realized, quite suddenly, that it had probably looked like I was crying. Hand to eyes, suddenly falling against the car all dramatic like, flinching away from his touch. Yeah. It probably looked like I was getting all weepy. Good. I could use that to hide how I really felt.

"Are you okay?" asked again.

I straightened up against the car, rounding my spine so I stood taller. I hadn't realized I'd been hunched over. Greeeat. For a second, I wondered why I was still thinking so clearly, then I realized that I still had a weight around my left wrist. Steve was still touching me. Greeeeat!

"I'm fine," I said. "I just got punched in the feels with nostalgia, is all. I haven't been here in a while. It's good to be back."

I wondered if there was a giant, red neon sign over my head that read "LIAR" in block letters. If there was, Steve ignored it. His eyes kept scanning over my face, as if he'd get some clue as to why my reaction so strong that I'd almost fallen over. Confusion was back in his eyes, but so was something else. The same something I'd seen in the hotel room. That emotion that I just couldn't name, or didn't want to name. That strange mix that told me that I wasn't the only one who felt something, and that I wasn't the only one who was fighting tooth and nail to not have something happen. I was about to look away when Steve opened his mouth to speak.

"Punched in the feels?" he asked.

Oh, thank the gods. The confusion had overridden everything else. I almost sagged against the SUV in relief, because I didn't know what he'd have done if I'd looked away from those prying, emotional eyes for the second time that morning. And frankly, I didn't want to find out. Instead of sagging, I stayed upright and pushed a smile on to my face. I tried my damndest to not make it a relieved one, but something told me that there would be at least a little relief around the edges. Oh well.

"Yeah. It means um…a lot of emotions overwhelmed me, kind of like a punch will overwhelm your body," I explained.

Yeah. That was a pretty good explanation. I hoped. Steve's changing features told me it was sufficient enough to satiate his curiosity. With a smile and a nod, he straightened himself up. He didn't let go of my wrist, though. In fact, his thumb was now rubbing comforting circles over the thin skin of my inner wrist. A shiver tried to crawl up my spine, the electricity and warmth of his touch doing things to me that only an old lover's touch should be able to accomplish. I managed to chase the shiver back down.

"Are you okay to go inside now that feels punching is over?" he asked.

His tone was as warm and comforting as his touch, and it threatened to try to send a shiver up my spine again. Oh, I didn't like this. I did, but I didn't. I did, but I shouldn't have. Ugh. Feelings. I gave him another smile, making it as warm as his voice, and nodded.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's get you acquainted with the place."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It took Steve a long second to drop my wrist, almost as if he didn't want to lose the feel of my skin against his. Oh, boy, did I know that feeling. Obviously I knew that feeling, because I was trying to punch it in the metaphorical throat until it backed up off me. But, it turned out that certain feelings were better at taking hits than MMA fighters. If this kept up, I was doomed. Even I, a stubborn ass mutant trained in combat, could only fight for so long. Thankfully, I didn't have to fight the feeling of Steve's thumb on my wrist for very long because he let me go so I could grab my bags and lead him to the house. Phew!

We made our way up the three steps to the white porch and I went about finding the hidden key to the front door. Steve stood off to the left near an expanse of white wall while I picked up a potted plant that was set off to the right side of the dark blue door. Careful to not spill any dirt out of the pot, I lifted the plant up until I could see the bottom. There was a little hook latch there that held a hidden compartment closed. With a flick of my thumb, the latch came undone and the secret door opened, letting a small metal lock box tumble out in to my waiting palm. I closed the bottom of the pot with the back of my left hand and latched it closed again with my right thumb. I carefully set the pot down again and went to stand on tiptoe in front of the door. On the top corner of the door jamb, there was yet another secret compartment. This one had a little door that slid open, kind of like the battery compartment of most remotes. I slid it open and found a key hidden away in the small, carved out nook. I used the key to unlock the metal box, which held three more keys, each with their heads dipped in different colors of paint.

I took the tan and light blue keys out of the box, leaving the purple key inside to feel as neglected as any inanimate object could feel. The front door had three locks, but only family knew which keys to use and in what order. The purple key was a decoy. If I wasn't already a secret agent, figuring out how to get in to my grandparents' house would make me feel like one. The light blue key went in the top lock, the tan key went in the middle lock, and the key from the secret compartment in the door frame went in the bottom lock. Who said one key couldn't have two uses? I opened the door and quickly ran inside, leaving Steve out on the porch.

So, why the obscene amount of keys and paranoia, especially when someone could easily just pick the locks or break a window? The answer was simple. Katie's death had made everyone paranoid to the point of borderline insanity. Plus, if anyone broke in, my grandparents had an alarm system located at the end of the foyer that went off within thirty seconds of a door or window opening or being broken, hence the running in to the house.

"Come on in," I called as I punched the alarm code in to the system.

Steve walked in to the house, his eyes looking around at the foyer as he did. It was a pretty simple foyer. It had light wood floors like the rest of the house, and was painted the same warm tan as the second key head had been. There were random carved wood motivational sayings hanging on the walls, as well as some family photos. It was the typical "welcome to our home, this is our family, enjoy your stay" type of space.

"Why do your grandparents need so many keys?" Steve asked.

He was standing in the middle of the foyer reading one of the wooden plaques.

"Katie's death made everyone paranoid. My grandfather asked me what the best way to keep his house safe was, so I told him, and he did the rest," I said as I moved behind him to put away the keys. "He even had that alarm system installed for extra protection."

I made quick work of putting everything back where I'd found it, then made my way back in to the house, locking the door behind me. Steve was looking me now, a hint of sadness flittering through his eyes. I was pretty sure I knew where the sadness came from, and I didn't want to deal with it. I'd rather have him looking at me like I was the sexiest person on the planet than look at me with that sadness in his eyes when I talked about Katie's death. And that was saying something.

My displeasure must have shown on my face, because his expression quickly changed, the sadness fleeing his eyes. He was trying to be as neutral as he could possibly get. He failed and ended up looking uncomfortable instead. I didn't much blame him. I was uncomfortable, too, but for much different reasons. I knew this house like it was the Browning under my arm. I would have said like the back of my hand, but I paid way more attention to my gun than I ever paid attention to the backs of my hands. Who stares at their hands all day? Anyway, for Steve, this place was new, and it was someone else's home. It was one thing to be in a hotel room. It was another thing entirely to be more or less invited back to the family stead with someone you'd known for only a day.

I motioned him toward the end of the foyer. Discomfort or not, we couldn't just stand there until sundown. We had shit to do. I had shit to do. Like call Fury and tell him to find another bodyguard for America's most precious war hero. Man, what excuse was I going to use? Probably none. Knowing Fury, he'd smell a lie over the phone, especially nowadays. I'd have to flat out tell him I was falling for my charge, and I was falling so hard that it was compromising Steve's safety, as well as mine. I sent out a silent curse to the heavens for making this sudden, deep bond a thing before I went about trying to get Steve further in to the house.

"Go on," I said to him. "Nothing's gonna jump out at you. Unless Grandpa left one of his pranks lying around."

"Pranks? What kind of pranks?" Steve asked, not moving from his spot in the middle of the foyer. He'd turned so his entire body took up all the space in the hallway.

I gave him a sweet smile, the kind that gave people cavities if they stared at it too long. I should've known to not do that. That emotion was back in his eyes, the one from the hotel. He tried to discreetly suck in a deep breath and failed miserably at the discreet part. Realization hit me like a Mack truck between the eyes. Gods, I was stupid! I was so stupid! It wasn't lust I was seeing. It was attraction. Plain and simple attraction. It had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with him finding me compelling enough to want to be romantic with. Crap. I could handle it way better if it were lust-based, but plain old romantic attraction, that same kind that I felt for him, I definitely could not handle. Yeah, I had some lust in my attraction for him, which didn't make our feelings the exact same, but it was attraction nonetheless. Hell, maybe he did hold lust in his feelings for me. Either way, it sucked, and I couldn't deal with it. We were fighting mutual attraction, and I didn't know how long either of us could hold it back. I just hoped we could dial it down until we found Barnes. If I stuck around long enough to help Steve find Barnes, that was.

With the realization still in my mind, I fought to keep that sweet smile on my face as I said, "Go in to the living room and I'll tell you."

Curiosity jumped back to life in Steve's eyes, as well as my favorite emotion, suspicion. The two emotions combined were almost enough to sweep the-emotion-that-shall-not-be-named under the rug. Unfortunately for me, I was still smiling that tooth rotting smile that had brought the evil emotion on in the first place. Also unfortunately for me, Steve wasn't moving and I wasn't willing to skirt around him and have any part of him touch me. The foyer was just big enough for two, not so muscular people to stand abreast. Steve was incredibly muscular, to the point that I was halfway surprised that his shoulders didn't touch the opposite walls of the foyer. And with him standing in the middle of the little hallway, even if turned sideways and stayed where he was, I'd end up touching him. I needed that like…well, I was going to say a hole in the head, but that was so far from the truth it almost hurt to admit it. I needed Steve touching me like an alcoholic needed another shot of whiskey. It was a good idea in theory, but not so good when it actually happened. Okay, it was amazing when it actually happened, at least for me and the alcoholic. At least at first, anyway. Later on it spiraled in to shit storm.

I sighed at him, letting the sweet smile melt in to a reassuring upturning of lips. Nothing was going to get him if he walked to the living room. Nothing dangerous at least. Maybe a fake snake or a mechanical frog, but nothing that would actually do him any harm. I lifted my hand, gesturing him toward the end of the hallway in an almost teasing "well, go on" motion. Yes. Teasing. Teasing I could do. Humor wiped away every other emotion for me, let me hide under a false safety blanket of wisecracks and witty jabs and gave me the illusion that none of the monsters called feelings could touch me. Yes. I would wrap myself up in humor so I didn't have to face the-emotion-that-shall-not-be-named.

Steve turned around, but gave me one quick, very suspicious glance over his shoulder as he moved toward the end of the hallway. I stepped forward, following him, and saw a thin, almost invisible piece of string stretched taught across the bottom of the hallway entrance. I took one surging step forward, holding my hand out to my charge as if it would stop him from sweeping his ankle across that tight, shimmering line.

"Steve, wait!" I called out.

But it was too late. His foot caught the string and stretched it out. A whirring and clicking sound filled too quiet house. It was a sound I could recognize even if I was locked away in a comatose state. Steve had just enough time to crouch and raise one of the bags, probably the one with his shield in it, to cover most of his body before a furry stuffed rat flew through the air and pinged off of the side of his makeshift cover. Steve stayed there for a few more seconds, waiting for the inevitable explosion while I tried to not laugh at him. I couldn't help it, and the laugh ended up coming out of my nose first, making a little _snrk_ sound. Steve turned around to give me confused, unhappy eyes before I fell in to hysterics. Literally fell. I laughed so hard that I actually went to my knees on the wooden floors, tears streaming from my eyes.

I could hear Steve's voice over my guffaws. He was trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of humor slipped in to his tone and made it lose a lot of its edge. "I'm glad you find it so funny."

All I could do was nod as laughter continued to spill out of my mouth. It took me a few more moments to finally control my laughter enough to talk around it. I straightened myself up, because I'd doubled over until my forehead had touched the cool wood. Tears and squinting blurred my vision, until I could just barely make out some of his facial features. He was trying to not smile.

"That was fucking hilarious," I chuckled. "Man, if you could've seen yourself. You were just…so scared of a stuffed rat."

I started laughing again, full on belly laughs that hurt my side. My family said laughing made me light up like the Fourth of July. That thought was even more hilarious, because I was sitting on the floor of my grandparents' house with a guy who was born on the fourth of July and who was America's golden child for over seventy years.

"I thought it was a bomb," he said.

Now he sounded annoyed, and a little bit petulant. I dismissed that last thought immediately. He was a better man than that. The thought of him being annoyed made me tone down my laughter until I could actually carry on a conversation with him.

"Of course it's not a bomb, dinkus," I said, chuckling. "I would have pulled your ass back if that had been the case."

He dutifully ignored the dinkus part of my first sentence, which was just as well. I wasn't up for explaining that bit of terminology right then. I was still trying to breathe properly.

"You're supposed to be my bodyguard," Steve said, a little frown pinching his eyebrows together.

"Not against flying stuffed rats, I'm not. You gotta deal with those on your own," I chortled.

His frown finally shattered and fell away leaving the behind the laughing man I'd had in the car with me the day before. It was nice to have this version of Steve back. No confusion, no sadness, no evil emotion that made me all fidgety, just humor and the way it made him look younger and untouched by the evils of the world. He let out a chuckle of his own, shaking his head slightly so his blonde hair swayed just a little bit with the motion. I had the distant thought of wanting to touch that hair and see how soft it was, but humor came rushing back to steal that thought away, to keep me safe from the things I didn't want to explore.

Steve got to his feet before I did, snapping the shiny trap line with his hand as he stood. He held his hand out to me to help me up, and I almost reached for it. Something in the back of my head said that was a bad idea, and I listened to that little voice. Yeah. Bad idea to touch him now that I'd gotten my shit at least partway under control. I just smiled and shook my head at him as I got to my feet by myself. If it bothered him to not be able to help me up, he didn't show it. Good man.

"So is that the prank you were talking about?" he asked.

"Mhmm," I nodded, and scooped down to pick up the bags I'd dropped. "He loves pulling shit like that. Three generations of our family have been subjected to his flying rats and snakes on strings and mechanical frogs in cookie jars. He even makes the little contraptions that send those suckers flying, which is why I didn't pull you back."

"You knew what was happening," he clarified, realization finally dawning on him.

I simply nodded. I could still feel my eyes shimmering with leftover laughter and very carefully kept myself from looking at Steve in the eyes. If the smile had stolen his breath away, I was pretty sure the glittery green and gold of my eyes would knock his feet out from under him, and I didn't need to see that happen.

"And you had me go first anyway? Did you know there was going to be a prank here?" he asked.

His tone surprised me a little. It still had the edges of humor to it, but now it was going back to being a little bit annoyed and a lot a bit confused. I still didn't look up at him to confirm my suspicions. I was having such a good time. I didn't need it ruined now by him getting all gooey on me and then me getting all gooey on him. No goo was to be had this day! Or this moment, at least. I wanted to have fun while I could, and right now, after he'd taken cover against a prank, I was having a lot of fun.

"Eh, I figured there was a fifty-one percent chance," I replied. I made sure I was too busy adjusting my bags to look up at him. Boy, those bags can really preoccupy you sometimes. "He already has all the other shit, so why not add one more scare tactic?"

Steve had moved away once I'd politely declined his attempt to help me up. He was now standing off to the right side of the hallway, where the rat had come from, which gave me enough room to walk past him without touching him. Yay! I took my chance and made my way in to the living room.

It was the same warm tan as the foyer, and gave off a welcoming, happy vibe. A long, turquoise couch was facing the left wall where a large flat screen TV was hanging, dark and waiting for use. A matching love seat was to the right on the couch, with a medium colored wood side table settled in to the corner they made. A gold accented lamp sat on the side table. A coffee table the same color as the side table sat in front of the long couch and was devoid of everything but dust. Just under the hanging television was a short wooden entertainment center. It followed the same color scheme as the coffee and side tables, and had several family pictures on top of its hard surface. It had three vertical drawers, each one with two separate rows filled with DVD's. There was one door on the right side of the entertainment center that held the DVD player and a radio system. More random family photos were scattered about on the walls, with the occasional print of a painting to brighten the room more.

To the left of the living room was the laundry room. It was nothing too special. Just your typical washer and dryer, shelves with cleaning products, and a rack for laundry that needed to hang dry. To the right of the living room was a set of white, French double doors that led out to the back porch. To the right of those was a set of stairs with a medium wood banister and light wood steps that led up to the second floor. Just like in Harry Potter, there was a cupboard nestled in to the wall under the stairs. Unlike Harry Potter, this cupboard was actually a half-bath with a toilet, a white sink, soap, and a single chocolate brown hand towel. The walls of it were painted yellow. The symbolism was lost on no one in our family, especially because the color scheme had been my grandfather's idea. My grandmother swore he was a five-year-old locked in seventy-year-old's body. I tended to agree, but said that it ust made him more fun.

Right across from the staircase was the kitchen and dining room. They were painted a light, soothing greyish green that perfectly offset the medium colored wooden cabinets, tables, and various accessories. All of the appliances were a shiny stainless steel that you could actually see yourself in once my grandmother finished cleaning them.

I moved in to the living room and set my bags on the long couch. Steve followed behind me and set his bags on the love seat. His eyes scanned the room, taking in as much as he possibly could. After a few moments, he settled on the family photos that were set on the entertainment center. I carefully ignored them. There were pictures of Katie, alive and smiling, in those photos. If I couldn't handle Steve's attraction to me then I sure as hell couldn't handle looking at my sister's smiling face.

"Your grandfather plays a lot of pranks then?" Steve asked, his eyes still taking in the details of the photos.

"Yep," I replied. "It makes him downright giddy when he gets someone to jump out of their skin. Sometimes I think he's a sadist, but my grandmother swears that he's just a giant five-year-old. She also says that he keeps her heart young because he's always giving it a good workout by scaring the hell out of her."

"Your grandfather sounds like quite an interesting man. Does that mean that there will be more of his pranks around the house?" he asked.

I thought about that for a moment. Would he put more pranks around the house, especially if it would scare off any trespassers? Yes. Yes he would. Would he put more pranks around the house to scare my grandmother then forget about taking them down before they left for Florida? Yes. Yes he would.

"Probably," I replied. "Just keep an eye out for things that look out of place, like random wooden boxes and strings."

"I'll try to remember that," he said.

"Awesome sauce," I said. "You ready to find out what our new room looks like?"

Steve turned, staring at me with a small smile on his face. I was really glad it wasn't a full-fledged smile. I'd done pretty well so far at not getting all mushy around him, at least while we were in the house. I didn't want to break my new record, which really wasn't that great anyway, and a grin from him would start me back at square one of trying to not be attracted to him. If I'd ever been in square one to start with. I'd probably started off in square two the moment I saw him and began playing the longest game of hopscotch in human history. Yeah, I didn't even know what square one looked like.

"Sure," he replied.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I led Steve up the stairs to the second floor, following the tan painted walls all the way up. There were more family photos on the walls and random prints of paintings of the walls of the upstairs hallway that my grandmother had found at local antique stores. There was a white door across the hall from the top of the stairs. That was going to be my room, and was, funnily enough, my mother's old room. It was where Katie and I had slept when we'd come up on family visits to see our grandparents.

The room was painted a light blue-green, which my grandmother insisted on calling seafoam. I still thought it was light blue-green, but I knew better now than to let her know that. The last time I'd trying arguing with her about the color, she'd pulled out the color swatch she'd gotten from the store, which, and I quote, "clearly says seafoam in little white letters, Dani. Your grandmother knows these things, dear," and I'd learned to leave well enough alone. The queen-sized mattress and box spring sat on a white wood bed frame that had a high, curved headboard. The headboard had flowers intricately carved around the edge of it, courtesy of my grandfather, to give it a girly touch. Well, I thought it was girly. My grandmother thought it was just pretty and "tied the room together." She watched too many home improvement shows for my liking.

But, I had to give it to her, she'd played to the flowers angle pretty damn well. The comforter and two matching pillows were a cream color so light that if you didn't have the frame to compare it to, you'd have called it white. Little blue, green, and light purple flowers were embroidered on the bottom of the comforter and on the open edges of the pillow cases. The sheet, and the other two pillows on the bed, were a blue-green only a few shades darker than the walls. White wood bedside tables that had the same flower design carved in to the drawers were on either side of the bed, both with silver colored lamps that held up plain white lampshades. There were old paintings in white wood frames hanging above the headboard. They were paintings that my grandmother had collected over the years from her children and grandchildren. They didn't really work well with the room's theme, but hey, they were nice memories and deserved to be hung up in a nice space. Oh, and because the room was so girly, there was a full length, white wire mirror that stood off to the side of a set of white wood closet doors.

If I hadn't had a job to do, Steve would have taken this room just so I wouldn't have to deal with all of the girliness. Alas, any bad guys would hit my room first, so Steve got to sleep in the room that my parents slept in when we'd come up here for family visits. It had been my uncle's old room and followed a slightly more boyish motif. Nothing like old-fashioned gender norms to style your rooms after. Yuck. If you were walking down the hallway, my uncle's old room was to the right of my mother's room. If you were standing in my mother's room and facing the stairs, it was to the left. Sometimes I hated directions.

The room was painted a rich green color that would normally be found out on the trees in the woods surrounding the house. There was another queen sized bed in there, only this one sat on a dark wood bed frame with a square headboard that looked like it had been made out of old two by fours and a banister ledge. The comforter and two out of the four pillows were a plain light brown meant to offset the darkness of the walls and the furniture. The sheets and two remaining pillows were the same cream color as the comforter on the bed of my mother's old room, and made me wonder if they'd originally come as a set. Dark wood, rustic looking bedside tables held up the same lamps that were in my mother's room. Well, I guess some furniture is universal. The paintings on the walls were professionally done scenes of the outdoors, as if to tell you that this was the room of an outdoorsman or lumberjack. Like the rest of the room didn't do that. There wasn't a full length mirror next to the dark wood closet doors, which I'm sure made every lumberjack who stayed in the room feel cheated.

Speaking of feeling cheated, there was a full, if somewhat small, bathroom across the hall from my uncle's room. It was nowhere near the size of the master bathroom, which is what made me feel cheated. I may be short, but I need room to spread out, dammit. When you're five foot three and you can't completely spread out in a tub, something was wrong with that tub. As in, it needed to be bigger so my knees didn't get cold from poking out of the water.

The bathroom was painted white with a white tile floor, and had delicately painted waves rising out of the baseboards. The waves had been done by Katie while she was still in art school as a little gift to our grandparents. She said that the rest of the upstairs had themed rooms, so why not have the small bathroom join the themed party? My grandparents had happily obliged and made it sea-themed, complete will little decorative shell-shaped soaps in a dish made from an actual clam shell. Prints of boats out at sea and fish underwater decorated the walls. The towels and liquid soap dispenser were a bright turquoise blue, the color of Caribbean seawater. The sink, toilet, tub, granite, cupboards, and medicine cabinet were all white with silver fixtures. The tub was actually a tub and shower combo, with wall to wall sliding, frosted glass doors. It was perfect for modesty, especially if you had to share the bathroom with family who didn't like to knock.

I told Steve where I would be sleeping if he ended up needing me for anything during the night, and led him to his room so he could have a look around. A nefarious thought crossed my mind when I talked about him needing me during the night and I fought to not physically shake the idea out of my head. Bad Dani! No lustful thoughts of charges! Yeah, like chastising myself had helped so far.

"This is your room," I said as I opened the white door and pushed it in. "Sorry about the motif. My uncle insisted that his room stay as burly as he is."

Steve walked in to the room, once again letting his eyes scan the new area like he'd done in the foyer and the living room. I leaned against the door jamb with my arms crossed over my chest as I watched him walk around and study things. At first, I was just trying to gauge what he thought of the room, and then my mind took me other places. Places I didn't want to go but couldn't seem to not go. Yep. Chastising myself did nothing to stop me from thinking bad thoughts.

My eyes studied his face, watched his expression of concentration as he looked around the room. There was something underlying the concentration, but my eyes didn't want to see that new emotion. No, they wanted to go lower, and they did. I watched his move around the room, watched how the muscles of his upper body rippled and strained from even the slightest of his movements. The shirt was so tight that I could see every little twinge of hard flesh through the thin fabric. Each step he took tightened the muscles in his back. Each tiny movement of his arms as he walked flexed his biceps and triceps and tightened the muscles in his forearms. Every time I caught a glimpse of his chest as he turned, his pecs were straining against the fabric of his shirt, as if crying out to be released from their threaded confines. I realized his nipples were hard, and I wondered if he was cold or if his body was actively trying to escape the prison of his shirt. I imagined other things that could be hard and trying to break free, other muscles under loose clothes that deliciously rippled under his soft skin. I wanted to watch his lower half as he moved and see if every one of his muscles rippled like the ones in his torso.

His voice broke me of my highly inappropriate thoughts, and I was glad he had his back to me so he couldn't see the beginnings of the blush that crept over my cheeks. Wow, I needed to get laid. Wow, I need to get away from him, or just check myself before I wrecked myself. What I was thinking, what I was feeling was too wrong for words. I'd established that as both a professional and as a rational human being, but I simply couldn't stop thinking about him in the most salacious ways. I also couldn't stop thinking about him as being an all-around perfect human being, which only made it harder for me to deny my attraction to him. Yeah, being hot will get you certain places with me, but if you're a dick, you will get precisely nowhere you want to go. And here was Steve, possibly one of the nicest guys on the planet, who was smart, compassionate, empathetic, funny, and strong of will and mind, who also happened to have one of the sexiest and strongest bodies in all of human history. Of course I was attracted to him, and of course I was incapable of stopping that. Dammit. If only he were a douchebag!

"You have an uncle?" Steve asked, his eyes seemingly studying one of the paintings.

"Yeah," I said from my spot in the doorway. "We don't talk to him much. Not after my mom punched him in the face."

Steve turned at that, shock clearly written on his handsome features.

"Your mother punched your uncle? Why?" he asked.

I shrugged as much as the door jamb would let me. "He insulted her kid. It doesn't matter if you're family or the Queen of England; if you insult one of my mother's children, she will hurt you."

Steve walked up to me, towering over me as he looked into my eyes with confusion and curiosity etched on to his face.

"What happened?" he asked. "What did he say to make her so mad?"

I shrugged again. "He called me a freak, said I was dangerous, that I should be locked up in padded cell never to be seen or heard from again, that my parents had made a mistake in keeping me once they found out about my powers." A small laugh broke free from a lips as the memory rose up in my mind, as if my uncle telling my parents to put me up for adoption wasn't as horrifying as it sounded. "My dad was the one that actually charged at my uncle first, and everyone was so busy trying to keep my dad off of him that no one was watching my mom. No one thought she'd actually hit him, so they kind of ignored her. But she walked right up to him and punched him so hard that he fell back on his ass. Then she told him to get out of her life and not come back until he could accept me for who I was."

"Dani," Steve said, his voice almost a whisper. I looked up at him, and realized that I hadn't even known I'd looked down. Great. Let's lose track of our actions. We already lose track of our thoughts, so why not add actions in there as well. My eyes scanned up his face, and once I met his eyes, I found that they were full of sadness and remorse. Well, there went the fun times we'd been having. "I'm sorry that your uncle said that about you. You didn't deserve that. You're incredible, and it's sad that your uncle couldn't see that."

I shrugged again, this time blowing off the emotional bullshit that came with the story, as well as the compliment that made me go a little weak at the knees. He was just trying to be nice and make me feel better about my uncle being an asshole, but that illogical part of my brain insisted that his words went beyond mere comfort.

"It's cool," I said. "I came to terms with it. Plus I got to see my mom punch someone, so that was pretty neat."

I don't know what compelled me to say what I said next, but suddenly honest words came spewing forth from my mouth without checking with my brain first to see if that was an okay thing to do. It totally wasn't, but it was happening regardless. Fuck a duck, man.

"Besides, I got my revenge at Katie's funeral," I said.

"What happened at Katie's funeral?" Steve asked, apprehension clear in his tone. The remorse was still there, still so present and thick that I could have cut it with a knife. I knew the apprehension had come from seeing my reaction that morning, and I didn't blame him for being careful.

But I did blame myself for bringing up Katie's funeral. If I could have rammed my head against the door jamb, I would have. I'd just voluntarily opened a can of worms that I didn't want open. Three years of not talking about Katie with anyone but family and I was suddenly spilling my guts to my charge that I had a weird, impossible connection with. At this rate, he'd learn all about me and my fucked up thoughts about Katie by nightfall. I held back a heavy sigh, telling myself that I had to answer rather than blow him off because I was the one that brought it all up in the first place. I silently cursed myself, then opened my mouth to speak.

"It was the first time I'd seen my uncle in years. My mom figured it was only right to invite him to the funeral because she was his niece and he deserved to grieve like the rest of us. The service went all well and good, but afterwards, he came right up to me and started blaming me for her death," I explained. I took a deep breath before continuing. "I was already blaming myself enough for everyone in the room, so I didn't need him trying to shove it down my throat that she died because of me. I already knew that and I didn't need to hear it from someone else. So, I roundhouse kicked him the jaw so hard that it broke. Then he couldn't talk shit anymore."

Compassion and sorrow filled those blue eyes of his until they were the color of cornflowers. He reached for me as if to comfort me. My hand instantly flew up, a sign to stay back, to not touch me. I gave him a reassuring, if incredibly weak, smile and managed to push it in to my eyes. That smile said that everything was okay, that I was okay, and that it was no big deal that my uncle was a massive dickbag. It was all a huge lie, but at least it kept him from touching me.

"It's okay," I said to his unspoken apology for my past difficulties. "Really. Now, go explore the room some more. Look in the closet, pull out the drawers, get yourself acquainted with your new surroundings. I'll go downstairs and get our bags."

I turned and walked away before he could say or do anything else. Yeah, that fun time didn't last long. Goddammit. Why did everything always have to go back to my fucked up past? Or back to me being attracted to him? Gods, I needed someone to fight so I could get my mind off of all of this inappropriate bullshit. I rubbed a hand over my face then ruffled my fingers through my hair as I made my way to the staircase. My foot was on the top step when I heard Steve call for me from the bedroom.

"Hey, Dani. Is this another one of your grandfather's pranks?"

I turned on my heel and headed back to the room to find Steve standing at the head of the bed, staring down at one of the pillows. From the doorway, I could see a large dark spot on the light brown cover. I never knew my grandfather to leave anything on one of the pillows. He was more likely to put something under a pillow or under a sheet, like some sort of prankster Tom Hagen from The Godfather. I made my way to stand next to Steve and looked down at the dark spot on the pillow. It took my brain a moment to register what I was seeing. At first, I thought Steve might have been right, that this was just a really good prank and that my grandfather had sprung for something realistic for his next joke. Then it dawned on me that was I was looking at was real. I was staring down at a spider that was half the size of my palm.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A scream tore from my throat as I leapt backwards and slammed myself into the wall. My body pressed against the plaster so hard that it was almost as if I was trying to become the paint. The spider moved when I screamed, and Steve jumped a little when he realized that the thing was alive and not some really well made toy. My hands unsuccessfully tried to grip at the wall while I whimpered like a kicked puppy. Walls were not made for gripping.

"It's real. Not a prank. Very real. Very real spider. Kill it, kill it, _kill it,_ " I blabbered.

Steve didn't kill it. Instead, he turned to me with a small smile on his face. If I wasn't so terrified, I'd have said he looked cute. However, terror overrode my libido and affection for him until I wanted to slap the smile off of his face. There I was, clinging to the wall like it would save me from a furry arachnid from Hell, and Steve was smiling at me like I'd done something amusing. Was he a sadist? Did he enjoy watching people as their terror punched them in the gut? That would be just my luck. Get feelings toward this perfect guy only to find out he's a closet sadist, and probably a sociopath. Would the serum have worked the way it had if he was a sociopathic sadist? It had worked way differently on Johann Shmidt, and he had been a sociopath and a sadist. I had my answer. It didn't make me feel better about the spider or the fact that Steve was smiling at me while I was panicking, but I had my answer.

"Are you scared of spiders?" he asked, his smile getting broader as he spoke.

"Yeah. Sure. Let's go with scared. Not terrified or phobic. That works," I said, my speech so rapid that even I could barely make out what I'd said. The next, though, was very clear and only slightly rushed. "Kill the damn thing!" I exclaimed.

Steve did something I didn't expect, or even want him to do. He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. My terror made him chuckle. Oh, he was cruisin' for a bruisin'. Damn sadist! I leveled a glare at him, which only made him laugh more. Hmn. My glares usually didn't elicit that response. They usually made people cower, but there Steve was, laughing at me like I was in a fucking sitcom. I was perplexed enough by his reaction that it almost broke me out of my terror. However, phobias are nothing if not persistent. It washed away any anger or confusion that I might have harbored and left me with nothing but cold, illogical fear.

"You're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but you're scared of spiders?" he asked, disbelief and humor filling his voice.

"Yes! Now kill it!" I cried.

He laughed and shook his head. He was so getting punched. Once I was able to be angry enough at him, he was getting socked right in the jaw. He walked over to me, leaving the huge spider to sit on the pillow like it owned the place. My eyes didn't leave the spider until Steve stepped in front of me and blocked my view. His hands were suddenly on my upper arms, his eyes boring into mine as if he could see all the way through to my soul. There was still humor in those blue depths, and I wanted to be annoyed, but his hands on my shoulders pushed away the panic, and the frustration that blossomed in its wake, enough to clear my mind of everything but a sense of peace. How in the hell did he do that?! I was beginning to think that the super soldier serum had done more than just make him all muscly. I was betting that it had given him the power of a calming touch. If that wasn't the case, and even if it was, I was so boned, and not the good way.

That calming touch could become addictive. It could become something I could reach out to when I couldn't handle my emotions. It could be a blanket that I wrapped myself in while the world crumbled around me. That calming touch was so strong that if I became mortally wounded, I doubted I'd even care about my imminent death. Okay, maybe it wasn't that strong, but it was strong enough to clear my mind. For a split second, I wondered if that calming touch could be used in the middle of a heated battle, used so I could become even more of a stone cold killer than I already was. Sometimes it was hard to stare someone in the eyes when you put a bullet between their brows. That calming touch could take away all of my doubts, all of my emotions, and let me kill like I was a true sociopath. Steve's voice broke through my thoughts, and I had just enough time to realize that his comforting touch shouldn't be used to help me kill people. No, it should be used for softer things. Softer things like the oh-so reasonable voice that floated over me.

"Dani, if I kill it on the bed, the pillow will be covered in bug guts," he said, "and we'll have to clean the sheets."

"Ew," I whispered.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "You can burn it, though, and not ruin the bed. Right?"

I thought about that for a long second. He was right. I'd become so scared, and then so lost in his touch, that I hadn't thought to use my powers. Well, that's a phobia for you. I suddenly realized that Steve's hands were moving up and down my arms, as if he couldn't help but touch every inch of my bare skin that he could. If his hands on my arms hadn't been enough to clear my mind of terror, his hands caressing my flesh was more than enough. It was more than enough to get me to realize that, once again, what we were doing, what I was feeling, was wrong. It was almost enough to make me blush again. What was he doing to me? First I'd cried twice in one day, and now I'd almost blushed twice in one day? What was next? I was going to slap on a pair of heels and play housewife? That thought alone was enough to make me pull out of his comforting embrace. I could cook, I could clean, but I'd never play housewife. It made me sick to even think about playing Holly Homemaker.

I stepped to the side, pulling myself away from his touch so I could face the eight-legged nightmare head on. As soon as his hands left me, I felt that panic seep back in to my brain. I had to kill this thing quickly or I was going to have another mini phobic breakdown. I sent my power out to wrap around the furry, fanged little demon. I lifted it off of the bed, making sure that it didn't squirm and freak me out to the point that I dropped it. I would have run out of the house if that had happened, and then I would have had to explain to my grandparents why their house had suddenly burned down. Something told me "demon eradication" wouldn't cut it with them. My power moved said demon in front of the door and far away from me. With a simple thought, I flipped the switch that turned those tendrils of power in to burning flames and the spider went up in a whoosh of fire.

A little pile of ashes fell to the floor and I sagged against the wall. Well, I started sagging, and then I started feeling like legs were crawling all over me, which made me stand up straight and start frantically trying to brush off ghostly insects. I could have sworn that I had spiders crawling all over me. It did nothing to help the panic that was still caught in my chest. Logically, I knew that there were no spiders, or even flies, touching my skin, but it sure as hell felt like there was. I shuddered, shaking my entire body and flipping my hair around as if it would rid me of the utterly disturbing skin-crawling feeling. My arms flapped around, my hands limp at the wrists, trying to shake off the remnants of ghost bugs.

"Ugh, it feels like it's on me," I whimpered.

Suddenly, I heard Steve laughing at me again. I turned around to find him covering his mouth with his fist, trying to hold back his obvious delight at my discomfort. I knew he was a sadist! My lips pursed as I leveled another one of my infamous glares at him. This time around, he had the good grace to look embarrassed. About damn time one of my glares worked on him.

"I'm sorry," he said, still trying to not laugh, "but that was funny."

"It was not," I countered. "It was gross and nasty and…" I shuddered again, moving my entire body in random, spastic motions as I audibly shivered out my disgust.

Steve chuckled, not even trying to hide it this time. Jeez, you throw one spider at an arachnophobe and you end up with a side-splitting comedic routine. Who knew?

"It's not funny," I reiterated, leveling yet another glare at him.

His smile didn't even falter under my gaze. Either I was losing my touch, or he was too amused to care. I was betting it was the second one. I'd have to test my theory later, though, either on him or on someone else. Or both. Both would work better.

"It's kind of funny," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him, my voice taking on an almost mocking tone. "We'll see how funny you find it when one of those things crawls on you in the middle of the night."

His smile did falter at that, and a flash of confusion passed through his eyes. "Why would one be crawling on me? You just killed it."

"Think about it," I stated, curling my top lip up. "If there's one, there has to be more, and it's probably gonna be in this room and you have to sleep in here, so ha."

I felt so smart, and ever so slightly childish, as his smile fell away so he could concentrate on what I was saying. Now we'd see who had the last laugh. I watched his face, waiting for horror to dawn on it. To my dismay, I saw humor bloom instead. His eyes glittered with it and a small, almost chiding smile turned his pink lips upward. Why was he smiling? He had to sleep in a spider infested room. He shouldn't be smiling at that!

"Did you check your room yet?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to answer him before the implications managed to reach my brain. Had I checked my room? No. Why was that important? Oh, mother fucker! My mouth snapped closed, my eyes widening until I was certain they were showing too much white. I quickly turned my shocked expression in to a glower, twisting my lips into a frown as I glared at the still highly amused Captain.

"Shut up," I said.

A laugh finally broke free from Steve's mouth. He leaned back a little, throwing his entire body in to his laugh. Even through my annoyance I could tell that it was an endearing quality that I found incredibly attractive. I tried to hold on to that annoyance, but I just couldn't manage to when I was faced with Steve finally letting go, even if it was at my expense. For a brief moment, I thought that I'd do anything to see him laugh like that all the time. He gave in to his laughter with such abandon that it warmed my cold heart to see it. My glower dulled to a frown as I stared at him, watched him use his entire body to unleash the laugh that rumbled through his belly. It took him a moment or two before he could finally talk again.

"Do you want me to check your room for you?" he asked.

"No," I pouted.

He took a step toward me, a smile still stretched across his handsome features. Now that he wasn't laughing and making me feel all warm and fuzzy, I could be petulant. So I was.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

There was a teasing tone to his voice that I wasn't sure I liked. Cool. Now I could be annoyed. I turned, moving for the door. I really wanted to get away from him before I stopped thinking that his laughing at me was an endearing trait. Annoyance had a way of turning everything sweet in to something bitter. I wanted to escape before that happened, because I actually liked his laughter. I didn't want my own frustration to spoil my opinion of something that was so wonderful. Unfortunately, he followed on my heels so I couldn't get away. Not good. He was so close that I could feel his body heat behind me. I knew that if I stopped too suddenly, he'd run smack in to me. Also not good.

"I'm sure. I'll be fine," I stated.

"How do you know you won't freak out again?" he asked.

"Because I know what to expect," I replied with a shrug.

"You're going to freak out again," he insisted, settling his hand on my shoulder to stop me. He turned me around to face him. A smile was still on his face. He was still teasing me. Yep. It wasn't endearing anymore. Now I just wanted to hit him on the arm. See? Bitter.

"Just let me check the room for you."

"No. I got it," I replied.

My tone clearly stated that I was not nearly as amused by his teasing as he was. It didn't stop him. For a second, I thought he was trying to make me feel better. Then I had the thought that he was trying to connect with me, trying to form the kind of bond best friends have. The kind of bond that let people tease each other mercilessly without anyone getting angry. That…that actually made sense to me. Sure, he was attracted to me. That much was obvious. Obvious enough for me to be unnerved by it. But maybe, just maybe, he also wanted to be my friend. Or maybe I was having panic-induced hallucinations. Was that a thing? That had to be a thing.

"Dani, come on. You're going to panic," he said, his tone still holding that teasing edge to it.

I looked up at him and tried to hold on to my anger. My last thought, the thought that he was trying to connect with me again, derailed my anger almost as fast as his touch could. Or was it his touch that was derailing my anger? I didn't know. I'd stopped being annoyed when I thought he wanted to be friends with me, hadn't I? I couldn't remember. Looking in to that smiling face, those deep blue eyes, I just couldn't remember. All I could think of was returning that smile of his.

With a sigh and a small upturn of lips, I said, "Shut up, Steve."

That one small smile of mine told him the game was on, and that it was no holds barred. His lips pursed together and he smirked, and I damn near turned to jelly. He looked so innocent, so boyish, so cute that I almost couldn't handle it. How did a twenty-seven year old man manage to look that damn adorable while he was teasing someone?!

"You're going to panic and do that shivering thing again," he said. He had to loosen the purse of his lips to speak, which just left him with a smile that would melt any woman out of her socks. Any woman including me. My toes turned to goo inside of my boots, and I felt the rest of my body quickly following suit. I fought to be angry in the glow of his smile, and could only manage just enough annoyance to give him a small frown, and even that frown was half-assed.

"Just let me check the room," he said.

I stared up at him and tried to think of something to do. I need to distract him, to distract myself, to find a reason to get the hell out of there. Maybe feigning annoyance would work? It hadn't worked before, but maybe it'd work now that I was thinking more clearly. I was actually feeling kind of happy. That usually worked to get someone off of your back, right? Even if you were pretending to not be happy? Yeah, that had to work. I tried it.

"I don't like you," I said, poking my finger in to his hard chest.

I'd done the same thing to Fury, only I hadn't touched my boss. I wasn't compelled to touch my boss. I wanted to touch Steve, wanted his body under my hands, even if it was just for a finger jab. And unlike my verbal jab at Fury, which really did hold some animosity, this verbal jab had no bite to it. Also unlike Fury, Steve didn't completely ignore my statement of not liking him. No, he flipped that shit on me like a bully flipping his victim upside down so he could shake money out of the poor schlub's pockets.

"I think you like me a lot, actually," he said.

His tone was still teasing, and humor still glittered in his eyes, but now there was something new under all of that laughter. The attraction was back and he wasn't hiding it. Or he couldn't hide it. He couldn't seem to hide any other emotion that he had, so why would he be able to hide one as unsettling as clear-cut attraction? Speaking of unsettling, I was unsettled. Seeing that emotion flash behind his eyes was enough to throw me off completely, leaving me blubbering like a moron again as I tried to regain my momentum of holding off his jesting.

"No. No, no, no. No, I don't. I have to pretend to like you. I'm supposed to be all smiley and nice and…shut up."

Yeah, that was the shittiest lie I'd ever tried to tell. But it was either that or tell him I really did like him, which held certain precarious implications, or I ended up telling him I really was pretending and we'd lose all of our hard-earned trust. He'd seen how I looked at him, how my face had mirrored his when we were in close quarters, and he knew that if I told him I liked him that it meant I liked him as more than just a friend. If I told him I was pretending, that the affection he'd seen had been a carefully crafted and executed emotion, then he'd never trust me to protect him. Either way I went, I lost. At least with this crappy lie I could play it off like I was teasing him.

"You're a terrible liar," he said.

His smile got softer and more tender as I watched. Something I'd said had dialed down the humor in his eyes until I was looking at mostly affection. It was guarded, as if he wasn't sure if it was okay for him to feel this way about me so soon, but it was there, and clear enough for me to see that his new tender smile wasn't just for my benefit. It was him wearing his heart on his sleeve like he always did. Looking at him, seeing that emotion in his face, made my heart slam against my rib cage like it was trying to escape. I didn't like that. It felt like my heart was trying to mirror his, trying to jump out of my chest so it could be worn on my sleeve for him to see. It didn't want to be the only one locked away, and it had been locked away for so long. For so long it didn't get to show love or affection or compassion. Working as an agent had forced it in to a cage so it wouldn't compromise my missions, but now it didn't care. It just wanted to be free and it knew, it just knew, that this man held the key that would allow it to feel again. It jumped up in to my throat, trying escape another way since battering my rib cage hadn't been enough to free it. It thumped too hard and too fast, trying to strangle me as I spoke.

"Funny. I've been hanging out with a guy who's a terrible liar. Maybe he's rubbing off on me," I said.

The words came out as little more than a whisper as I stared up in to those thoughtful blue eyes. My heart grabbed a hold of my vocal chords and held them tight, making sure I didn't so much as sigh as Steve's face got closer to mine. I felt his hand on my shoulder move to caress the bend of my neck, his thumb brushing over my collarbone. I fought to take in a breath, but my lungs had suddenly stopped working. He was so close. All I had to do was take a step forward and lift myself up on my toes, and that distance would be closed. It was so easy, but I couldn't move. Part of my brain was screaming to get the hell out of there, that this would only end in agony and me losing my job or my client. I wanted to listen to that part of my brain that told me to run, but something more primal stopped me. The sight of lips the color of a pink rose parting kept me there, kept the breath from my lungs, and kept my heart in my throat.

"Maybe," Steve whispered.

His tone, so tender, sure, and aroused, held so much more than that one word implied. Maybe, maybe this would be okay. Maybe the short time we'd known each other didn't matter. Maybe the amount of time someone was together didn't mean anything when it came to how much they cared for each other. Maybe we should just admit it to ourselves that there was something more there. Maybe we should just let go of all of our doubts and fall in to each other. Maybe we should just kiss. He leaned forward a little bit more, listening to that whispered "maybe" and all that it had implied. He was still unsure, still fighting his feelings, but he was losing. The great Captain America was losing. We couldn't afford that. We couldn't let either of us lose ourselves to this. We couldn't. Gods, I wanted to. I wanted to so badly that my heart hurt with it. My heart hurt with the need to let go and give in, to just stop fighting and let myself fall in to his arms. But I couldn't, and that, more than anything, was what hurt the most.

He saw it in my eyes, I think, as I stepped away from him. He saw what I felt for him, but he saw that I couldn't stop fighting. Not yet, anyway. Not so soon after the fight had begun. Not when we had so much more to do. We had a mission we had to finish before I let myself go. He had a friend to find before he let go. I thought of the laptop that was downstairs and resigned myself to use it as an excuse to get myself away from him, if only for a few minutes. I took another step back and he let me. His hand fell away from my shoulder to grip the width of his black leather belt. His eyes told me without words that he understood and that he didn't blame me for fighting it. He even managed a small, reassuring smile.

I smiled back at him as my heart released my vocal chords and air rushed back in to my lungs. "I'll go get the bags. You can check my room for demon bugs."

His smiled broadened at my nickname for spiders, humor glittering in his eyes again, like a thin film to glaze over all of the other emotions that spilled so freely out of those drowning blue orbs. He gave me a little nod that reminded me of a man tipping his hat toward a lady.

"I'll clear your room of any demon bugs before you come back upstairs," he said.

I nodded a little too rapidly as I took another step backwards. "Thank you," I managed.

With that, I turned on my heel and tried to not run down the stairs.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I hit the bottom step and immediately made my way toward the couch, silently cursing myself the entire way to the turquoise cushions. Why was this happening? Why was I the one who had to be with him? Why not a heterosexual male agent or a lesbian female agent? Hell, I knew we even had one asexual agent! Why not that girl?! Why me? And why did attraction have to rear its ugly head now? Couldn't it have waited a couple of weeks?

The moment I thought about a couple of weeks, I remembered one of my friends and a story he'd told me about his grandparents. They'd met in a science lab and were engaged two weeks later. After sixty-four years, they were still together and just as in love. It was nice to know that I wasn't alone in the whole instant attraction thing and that it could actually work out, but dammit, I didn't need that reassurance right now! I needed reasons to not like him, to not fall head over heels while we were in the middle of a mission where I was tasked with constantly keeping a level head! It made me wonder if the attraction would have been just as strong if I'd randomly met him on base. Would we have been as drawn to each other if we weren't in the thick of it, with both of our pasts being spilled open for the other to see while enemies tried to capture or kill us while we tracked a highly skilled assassin? Would an office romance, as it were, have brought us together so quickly and so passionately? I was thinking yes. I'd done this same job before numerous times. I'd dated coworkers numerous times, too. Nothing in either field had ever compared to whatever Steve and I had going on.

That bugged me. Why was there this sudden attraction? Why did it feel like it was strong enough to level Alexander the Great's army? What was it about Steve that drew me in? What was it about me that drew him in? And why was it happening after only one day? Something, some niggling voice in the back of my head, reminded me of the mythos of Zeus and his fear of humans. The story went that all humans were first created as having four arms, four legs, one head with two faces, and two sets of genitalia as well as androgynous genitalia. It was said that the male of the body was born of the sun, the female was born of the earth, and that the androgynous third of the trifecta was born of the moon, which was born of the earth and the sun. These human creatures had great power and strength, enough to overthrow the gods, and Zeus was terrified of them. He ended up splitting the humans in half so that the two parts of the creature could never become whole again. The humans were so miserable at losing a part of them that they didn't eat, so Apollo came up with a solution. He sewed them up and made their bodies new, leaving only the belly button as a reminder of their previous form. From then on, each human would be only half of the whole and would long for their other half for the rest of their days. However, when they finally found each other, and their bodies and souls joined together once more, there would be an unspoken understanding and knowledge of each other, and they would never know a greater joy.

The story was Plato's way of teaching about soulmates. That bugged me, too. I didn't believe in soulmates. And I sure as hell didn't believe that soulmates could be strewn through time by the gods, never to meet and know their previous joy. That would just be overkill, even for Zeus. But again, that nagging voice in the back of my brain told me that it wasn't such a ridiculous notion.

If I thought about it, really thought about it, I figured that Steve was the air to my fire. His very touch could dim the flames of my emotions until they were nothing but embers flickering behind the green and gold of my eyes. I had the feeling that if he wanted to, he could use the oxygen he possessed to send my flames roaring to the heavens to kiss the very clouds that the gods sat upon. He could even let me overtake him, let me go unchecked until I burned him, until every lick of every fiery tongue made it hard for him give breath to the life around us. If he let me, I could set his air on fire. I could make him ignore everything but me, and he could do the same to me.

His very touch changed me, and made my mind clearer. Most of the time. Other times he clouded my mind so much that I was incapable of doing simple addition. His touch kept me from carving up Thompson, from panicking with the spider, from drowning in my own nightmares, but it also lit up the fire of passion until it was so hot it melted my brain. He pulled me out of the depths of riptides of emotions, and I dragged him under, and vice versa. It seemed like every time I touched him, every time he touched me, we lost a bit of the fight, allowed feelings and passion to overtake us until he'd started bending over me to press his lips upon mine and I'd almost let him. I heated his blood, and he cooled mine. No, I didn't believe in soulmates, but the way we fed off of each other and cancelled each other out certainly made it compelling enough for me to give it a second thought. My second thought was broken, as my thoughts usually were these days, by Steve's voice coming from behind me.

"Your room is safe. You can sleep there without worry-….are you okay?"

The last was said with such emotion, such concern, that it completely broke me out of my reverie. I was sitting on the couch with the laptop sitting open on the coffee table. It was opened to the windows that searched the surveillance cameras of Pittsburg for any sign of Barnes. I didn't remember doing that. Shit. I'd gone way past reverie. I'd gotten so lost in my own head that the world around me had fallen away. Not good. I frowned at the laptop for a second before I turned around in my seat to look at Steve with a neutral face. I had to make it seem like my mind wasn't awash with conflict and soulmate myths.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just checking to see if we got a hit on Barnes," I said. I turned back and motioned toward the laptop, making it as exasperated a motion as I could. "Nothing yet."

If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that Barnes was the best wingman ever. His disappearance and sudden reappearance was why Steve and I had been brought together in the first place, and his going off the grid again just meant that we'd be together longer. Being together longer meant more time for us to give in to our feelings. Barnes wasn't even fucking here and he was helping his best buddy get the girl. Now that shit took talent. The fucker.

I realized that I was starting to get angry. Why? Oh, just that I'd lost myself to my thoughts so completely that I could have been shot and not known about it until I was bleeding to death which meant I wasn't doing my job, I was actually starting to buy in to that soulmate bullshit, I had the hots for charge, and my missing person was staying missing when he should have had his shit figured out by now so he could come out of the woodwork and save me from doing something stupid. Yep. Angry.

I swallowed, trying to pull that anger down in to my belly like it was underchewed, sticky gum. It didn't want to be swallowed, and it made that well known. It stuck to the sides of my esophagus all the way down to my stomach, almost making me choke on it. I didn't care what my anger wanted, though, so I swallowed it down as best I could. I needed to seem as normal and levelheaded as humanly possible. Good luck with that, me.

Leaning forward, I tapped in a command to expand the search for Barnes across the surrounding states. I almost expanded it to Canada, but I figured that would be going just a little too far. If Barnes wanted to learn about himself, he had to stay in the States. Right? Right. Steve walked up behind me to lean over the back of the couch. There wasn't much room on the cushions for him to sit so he could see the screen, seeing as how my bags were still strewn over the piece of furniture. I felt the cushions at my back and butt move as he leaned forward to look at the computer screen, his weight pushing them down and forward until they stiffened under me. Thankfully, he didn't touch me. I didn't know what position his body was in, if his arms were crossed over the back of the couch or if only his hands were pushing the cushions down, but I didn't really care. As long as he didn't touch me, everything was dandy.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

His voice was close but not too close, telling me he wasn't standing up and putting all of his weight on his hands or resting his chin on his arms on the back of the couch. I paused my typing to look back at him, curiosity taking over. Apparently I did care how he was positioned. He had his elbows resting on the back of the couch with his clasped hands hovering a few feet over the seat cushions. He'd bent himself in half, and probably at the knees as well, so he could see the screen around my shoulder. Not over my shoulder. Around it. He'd positioned himself just a little to my right side so he wasn't breathing down my neck. I appreciated that. Now that I knew what position he was in, and how close he was to me, I turned back to the laptop to finish typing in commands.

"I'm expanding the search for Barnes to the surrounding states. I'm going to assume that he'll be staying in the New England area and won't cross in to Canada, but just to be sure I'll expand the search a state or two south and in to the Midwest," I explained.

I turned to look at Steve again, this time giving him a small smile. He was frowning at the screen, concentrating on it as if he could make Barnes appear by willpower alone. I thought I might have been wasting the smile on him when he finally turned to give me his eyes. The frown fell away, giving his face over to the much softer emotion of contentment. It made him content to see me smile. Good to know.

"Thank you for making sure demon bugs weren't in my room, by the way," I said.

He gave me a full-fledged smile, one that reached his eyes and made his face light up with the warm glow of a candle flame. My breath caught in my chest, making me fight my own body in order to make it work properly. Air. I need air to function. He was just too damned handsome for words. But gods help me, he was more than just a pretty face to me. The weight of his knowledge, of his emotions, struck a chord deep within me that drew me closer to him. Not literally, because we didn't need another awkward interaction, but closer nonetheless.

"You're welcome," he said.

I gave him a quick nod before returning back to my work. It wouldn't take me very long. The commands were simple and I was exceptionally speedy when it came to typing. Steve stayed at my back, not moving as my fingers danced over the keyboard. I guessed he wanted to see exactly how far I was expanding my search. Too bad. I hated it when people loomed over my shoulder. It made me feel all squirmy. I liked him, a lot, but not even my own family could get away with looming over my shoulder. My mind searched for a way to get him out from behind me so I wouldn't be distracted. It ended on food. We hadn't eaten anything since we'd woken up, and that had been a good three to four hours ago. I looked at the clock on the laptop. It was noon. Holy shit, where did the time go when you were crying and throwing Hydra agents out of six story windows? Apparently, it went out the window. HA! Bad puns! I'd scold myself for that one later.

Without so much as glancing over my shoulder, I said, "If you're hungry, there should be food in the freezer. I can't guarantee how good it'll be, though."

"What? You're not going to cook for me?" Steve said, the teasing from earlier back full force in his tone.

Good to know that he was already over that awkward almost kissing situation. No, really. It was good to know that. We hadn't lost any friendly ground when we'd almost touched lips, and that made me happy. My job was so much easier when my charge liked me. However, in that moment, I didn't care how much Steve liked me. Okay, that was a lie. I cared more than I wanted to admit to, but I couldn't just let that teasing comment slide.

I furrowed my brows so hard that I actually got the beginnings of a headache, pursed my lips together as tight as they would go, and turned to give him a flat, unpleasant glare. It wasn't an angry look, but it was definitely the look you gave your friend that said "you're trying to annoy me and I know it." Steve didn't so much as flinch under my glare. If anything, his face got brighter. He knew, somehow he knew, that he hadn't pissed me off, so he was going to keep teasing. Look, Ma. I made a friend already.

"You got hands, don't ya?" I asked him, keeping my lips pulled in against my teeth so little dimples appeared at the corners of my mouth and puffed my cheeks out.

"Yeah," he said. He showed me his hands as if I hadn't already known they were there and spread them as if he were shrugging. "I just thought you'd know what I should and shouldn't eat out of the freezer."

That was reasonable, but complete bullshit. My gaze lightened so I could make the growing headache dissipate. It was hard to think around a headache sometimes, and I needed to think so I could argue semantics with him.

"Food," I said. Only, I didn't say the word it was meant to be pronounced. I drew out the F and added a U somewhere in the O sounds, ending with a –duh, as if I were telling him to use common sense.

Steve's smile faltered a little until he was smirking at me. The sparkle of humor didn't leave his eyes, so I could clearly tell he was having fun with me. Good to know I was entertaining.

"And what if it's poisoned?" he asked. "As my bodyguard, aren't you supposed to make sure no one poisons me?"

If I wasn't certain of it before, now I _knew_ that he was fucking with me. Something in the back of my mind wondered if this was the way he acted with Barnes, or with anyone else, for that matter. If it was how he acted with Barnes, then I knew I was on the crazy train to Friendship City. Or I'd already jumped off of the train and had rolled through the city welcome sign. But if he acted this way with people he didn't like, then…Oh, who was I kidding? The guy liked me. He liked me enough to try to kiss me. Unless he had some weird fetish for kissing people he despised, then I had to assume that he already viewed me as a friend. So, as a friend, I leaned back and gave him my best wide-eyed "you have got to be kidding me" look.

"My grandparents aren't holding on to frozen cyanide lasagnas, Steve," I said, dryly. "If you're so worried about being poisoned, feed it to a rat first. If the rat dies, don't eat the food. Problem solved."

I turned back to the computer to type in the finishing commands and pressed enter. I heard Steve draw a breath behind me, and instantly lifted my right hand away from the laptop to clap it against his shoulder and push him away from the couch. The angle was awkward and gave me absolutely no force to work with, but Steve moved back anyway. I had a short moment to be thankful that nothing flared to life when I touched him before I heard him chuckle. He sounded farther away, which meant that he was probably heading in to the kitchen. He also sounded like he was having fun.

"You're a jerk," I said, my tone still dry.

I heard the sound of the freezer door being pulled open. Steve's voice quickly followed on the heels of the sound of the suction releasing so the door could open.

"I don't think anyone has ever called me a jerk before," he said.

He sounded like he was actually going through all thirty-one years of his life within a matter of seconds to see if anyone really had called him a jerk. I was with him on this one. I didn't think anyone would ever call him a jerk. Not and mean it, at least. I sure as hell didn't mean it, and I sure as hell didn't want him to think I meant it, so I changed my tone just a bit. The dry wit was still there, but now it held an edge of teasing.

"They weren't being honest with you," I replied.

I turned on the couch so I could splay my left arm over the back of it. My upper arm pressed in to the wood and light padding that was hidden by bright fabric while the rest of my arm stiffened out to hover parallel to the floor. Only my hand was limp, my fingers pointing downward as if I were reaching for the wood it dangled over. It wasn't a very comfortable position, and my arm let me know that. The appendage started to get that little tingle that tells you it's starting to fall asleep, so I bent my elbow to rest my hand on the back of the couch. It put less pressure on the arteries and veins of my arm, effectively eliminating the problem of my arm going numb while I sat there and jested with Steve.

"Honesty is key in good relationships, you know," I continued.

Steve had something in his hand when he turned away from the freezer. I couldn't tell exactly what it was, but judging from the aluminum baking pan it was in, I was betting it was one of my grandmother's homemade frozen dinners. I'd joked about the cyanide, but not about the lasagna. The woman had a thing for being prepared, so at the beginning of every month, she'd make a couple of reheatable meals and stick them in the freezer for nights when she and Grandpa didn't feel like cooking anything. It was a good plan, if you asked me. Sometimes you were just too tired to cook, and having a backup meal plan set in place was a good idea.

Steve looked at the pan in his hand, then back up at me before saying, "I don't think I'm going to give you any of the cyanide lasagna."

I dropped my jaw and widened my eyes in mock affront. How dare he not give me cyanide lasagna, the look said. My face quickly slipped in to a faux frown. My fake feelings were fake hurt now.

"Rude," I said. My eyebrows lifted on my forehead before I pointed at him with the hand that was flopped on the back of the couch. "See? You're being a jerk."

"No, I'm not," he said as he closed the freezer door. "You insulted me. You don't get cyanide lasagna if you're going to insult people."

He went over to the oven and stood there for a moment or two, probably trying to figure out how to work this particular model. That was the problem with ovens these days. Every make and model was different, like a car. And like a car, using one you weren't accustomed to could take a bit of getting used to. You had to find the ignition, the headlights, the wipers, and the manual or stick shift, all before you could go anywhere. On the oven, you had to find what button turned it on, what buttons made the oven hotter or colder, and then you had to find the timer so you didn't burn your food. It was a process nowadays.

"Okay, first of all," I said, shifting on the couch so I could get my left leg under me, "I do not insult people. I point out the obvious. _I_ am the nicest person you will ever meet."

He gave me a look for that one. A look that clearly said he didn't believe me. Tough shit.

"Second, I was really looking forward to playing Jonestown with you, and I am so going to Hell for that joke."

Wow, I'd crossed the line there. I'd been hanging out with agents way too much, and had done too much bad shit. My humor was starting to go Dark Side on me. That wasn't good. Okay, it was a little good because it protected my psyche to a certain degree. If anyone ever stepped foot at a crime scene or a particularly horrific injury scene, they'd hear cops, EMS, and everyone else who worked in a field that dealt with never ending horrors, cracking dark and sometimes downright offensive jokes. They weren't being rude or mean for the sake of being rude or mean. They were trying to make light of the entire situation so they didn't end up depressed and suicidal. It's the same reason you didn't assign a name, or sometimes a gender, to a victim if you didn't have to. The second you called the body anything other than "body" or "it," you started thinking of the person at your feet and what their lives had been like, and what their lives would have been like if this horrific thing, whatever it may have been, hadn't happened to them. It was a self-preservation tactic that could sometimes seep in to your everyday life if you let it. I'd let it. Whoops.

Steve got the oven working and popped whatever food he'd found in to the oven before turning around and giving me a questioning glare. I knew what he was asking without him having to so much as curl a lip, but he let the question spill out of his mouth anyway.

"Why would you go to Hell for that joke? What's Jonestown?"

Crap! Way to ruin the fun mood, Dani! Moron. I stared at him, not responding. I wasn't sure how to respond, really. I didn't want to tell him what Jonestown was. He'd turn in to a bleeding heart on me, and probably get angry at the same time. I didn't want that. I, quite selfishly, wanted to continue having fun. This was the most fun I'd had in a while, and that was saying something about how fucked up my life was. Steve leaned his butt against the oven and crossed his massive arms over the broad expanse of his chest, telling me he was waiting for his answer.

For a second, I thought he wouldn't be able to fold those large arms over that impressive swell of his chest. He was so loaded down with muscle that the action looked almost impossible, if not downright uncomfortable. It pushed his pecs and biceps up, and puffed his shoulders out, making everything strain against the fabric of his shirt until I thought the piece of clothing was going to rip at the seams. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that the action was attractive has hell, but the front of my brain was too preoccupied with a problem to get any kind of pleasure out of looking at his body. Well, that had to be a first. For me, at least. I couldn't speak for any other women.

"You don't need to know," I said after a few long minutes of silence. "Not right now, anyway."

"Honesty is key in good relationships, you know," he replied, quoting me.

Note to self: don't say things that you don't want thrown back in your face later on, because he was good at that. I let out a heavy sigh and slumped against the back of the couch, pressing my face in to the turquoise cushions. Knowing it would be at least partially masked, I let out a growl of frustration at my own stupid mouth and the stupid brain that refused to control my lips. When I looked back up at him, my eyes were wary and apologetic, and probably apprehensive as all hell.

"Don't get mad at me," I said. "My sense of humor has taken a really dark turn since I started working with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I can't promise to not get upset, but I can try," he replied.

Hey, he was being honest, too! I knew there was a reason I liked him, beyond, you know, the obvious. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

"That the best I can ask for," I stated. Without any warning, I jumped right in to it, ripping the bandaid off to show the still bleeding wound. "Jonestown refers an American religious organization based out of northwestern Guyana that was led by Jim Jones. Jonestown became infamous after nine-hundred-seven people died of cyanide poisoning at Jones' command. Two more died from other causes, while five more people died at the hands of gunmen at a nearby airstrip. Only thirty-three people survived. It was ruled as a mass suicide, but the survivors called it a mass murder. For over two decades, it was the biggest loss of civilian American lives in one deliberate event. And I just made a joke about it, so I am now driving the train to Hell."

Steve was silent for a few long seconds as he tried to process the information I'd just given him. It was a lot to take in. It probably reminded him of the war, and how millions had died at the behest of one crazed, PR-savvy, sociopathic narcissist who'd had chronic flatulence. Though I doubted he knew about the chronic flatulence or PR-savvy parts of Hitler's resume. Maybe I'd tell him about how one of the most hated men in the world couldn't stop farting. I bet he'd get a kick out of it.

"You're right," he said, solemnly. "It's not something to joke about."

I simply nodded. He drew another breath, his arms uncrossing from his chest so his hands could grip the cool, front part of the oven on either side of his hips.

"But I don't think you're going to go to Hell for it," he added. He gave me a small smile and continued. "You're not a bad person, Dani. One bad joke doesn't make you a bad person, especially if you realize that the joke was a bad one."

He had a point, but I still thought I was driving the train to Hell. Or at least driving a black 1967 Chevy Impala in to Purgatory. One or the other. I didn't say that, of course, because he was trying to reassure me that my soul wasn't damned. It's kind of rude to blow someone off when they're trying to comfort you about your afterlife. I also didn't think now was the time to point out that I actually didn't believe in Hell or Heaven or anything like that. So, I said the only thing I could say, and I'd been saying it a lot lately.

"Thank you."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

While Steve kept an eye on the food and the laptop, I took our bags upstairs. I wasn't entirely excited to go in to his room, seeing as how there had been an eight-legged evil in there the last time, but I sucked it up and set his bags on the bed before hightailing it the hell out of there. I took a little bit of extra time to make sure there was shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in the shower, then set my toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink. I was hoping we'd be able to stay there a little while and that I wouldn't have to grab my shit and run at a moment's notice. Fingers crossed, toes crossed, and hair braided that the Hydra goons didn't track us to the house. I'd be incandescent with rage if that happened. Literally.

Once everything was all nice and set up, I made my way back downstairs to find Steve trying to work the remote control of the television. What he actually had in his hand was the remote to the DVD player, which was probably why he looked so damned befuddled. Remotes were another thing that took a little getting used to. One house could have five remotes for one room, and no one who was visiting would know which remote went to what. I tried to not laugh, or even shake my head, as I walked up to the entertainment stand and pulled the television remote out from behind the wall of framed photos. Why did my grandparents keep it there when they went out of town? Because they were weird. Also, apparently they thought that if someone managed to get past the security systems and went to steal the TV, the thief would never think to knock over or look behind the wall of precious family photos. Again, weird.

I glanced at Steve before moving over to him. It was pretty adorable to see him fumbling with new world technology. It was adorable to see almost anyone you liked fumbling with anything, but the fact that he was seventy years out of time and trying like hell to make his situation work just made his normal, everyday actions that much cuter. The fact that he was so far out of time should have made me feel bad for him, and on some level, I did, but in that moment I was completely focused on how damn cute he was. It was odd, I thought, to think that a six-foot, beefed up super soldier was cute. But dammit, he was. It was his face that did it, so innocent and confused, and the way his shoulders hunched and tried to almost huddle around the offending remote, as if its mere existence in his hand was embarrassing. I pushed down a small smile and made my way to stand in front of him. He looked up at me, confusion still plain in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him by removing the remote from his hand.

"DVD," I said as it slipped out of his fingers. Before he could close his hands, I slipped the television remote in to the empty space the previous remote had left. "TV."

He let out a breathy laugh and looked down, trying to hide embarrassment. Or, at least I thought that was what he was doing. It certainly seemed like it to me. His shoulders spoke for him, though, lowering even more than they had before, almost in a sort of defeat. He could best Hitler's forces and red-faced super Nazis, but he couldn't manage to best a simple remote. It was sort of embarrassing, even if you didn't have his resume, to have simple technology beat you.

"I'm still not used to all of this," he admitted, glancing at me through his eyebrows.

That was quite the feat, seeing as how he was much taller than me, but he managed. Hell, he even managed to look boyish and naive, too. I still didn't know how he did that being twenty-seven and having seen some terrible shit in his time, but he did it. He did it, and it warmed my heart to see that he hadn't been ruined by the evils of the world. It was so easy to let the world corrupt you, to let it take away that innocence and the thought that there was something good worth fighting for. He still saw that there was good in the world, and it helped him keep that soft smile, that little spark of purity that made him look like he was still just an innocent young man from Brooklyn. I wanted to reach out and pat his shoulder to give him the reassurance he needed, to let him know through physical contact that him not being used to this new life, and remote controls, was alright. Instead, I gave him a small smile and kept my hands to myself.

"Even people who weren't frozen for seventy years have a hard time with technology these days," I said.

"Except for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, right?" he asked.

Bless his heart, he was trying to make a joke. I think. He was still working on pulling himself completely back together so he no longer looked or sounded embarrassed, so maybe it wasn't a joke and he actually meant it. I had no idea, so I treated the situation like he was being serious. I was guessing he'd seen and worked with mostly techies from his time with dealing with the agency, so it seemed like a good assumption to make. He was wrong, but it was still a decent assumption. Either way, I widened my smile and shook my head.

"Not necessarily," I replied. "We all know basic computer skills and how to work the weapons we're given, but some of us are more skilled than others when it comes to computers or overall technology. We're almost exactly like the rest of the technology-owning world, only it's a requirement to have a basic understanding of what you're working with, whereas some people have a less than basic understanding."

I wiggled the DVD remote at him before he could say anything and continued. "This shit will throw most people off. These days, people usually have more than one remote, sometimes for the same piece of equipment. So, the people who don't know what those remotes are used for get confused as hell as to what they're handling until suddenly the speakers system starts blasting death metal and they realize, 'holy crap, I was holding the stereo remote the entire time.' Same thing happens with cars, ovens, advanced refrigerators, phones, televisions, DVD players, speaker systems, MP3 players, computer models, and anything else you can think of. If it's not yours or you just bought it, there will be a learning curve. I can assure you that you are not alone in this."

Steve's body had straightened out as if he'd finally sloughed off some version of low self-esteem. He didn't seem like a guy with low self-esteem. No, he seemed humble rather than unconfident. However, I'd seen the photos of him from before his impressive transformation. He had been a scrawny guy with some serious health problems, and even today, being a short and skinny male was viewed as a major weakness that could lead a guy to have some serious image issues. I had the distinct feeling that it had been way worse when he was growing up. Today we had anti-bullying programs, cops that would shove kids into juvie if they assaulted someone, and a ton of other safety nets for kids to fall in to if they needed help. Back then, there had been nothing. It must've been a special kind of hell for him that had stuck with him to this day. Maybe that special hell sometimes made him feel like he was still that scrawny guy.

It seemed cruel to say that I was glad to see that vulnerable, unconfident side of him. Sure, I knew it was there. He was human, after all. But it was nice to know that even America's golden boy, who was physically perfect, still had some forms of self-doubt. It made him more relatable somehow. Sure, humor and bravery and humility were all relatable, but everyone has had self-confidence issues at some point in their life, and to see that Steve still had at least a small dose of that emotion made me feel closer to him. Again. Yeesh, how much closer were we going to get? I asked the universe to not answer that question.

"Thank you," he said. "It's nice to know that I'm not alone in this."

I couldn't help it this time. I reached out at touched his arm. I softened my eyes in a way that I hoped told him I cared about his well-being, and aimed that look directly at him. Thankfully, I was calm enough that touching him didn't affect me, other than the fact that it tightened things in my chest and a bit lower in my body. Oddly enough, it did seem to affect him, emotionally, at least. He looked at me like I was the only campfire in the middle of a frozen tundra. There was such relief on his face, such a sense of peace, that I almost wanted to move my hand away to see if it was my touch making him react that way or if it was my gaze. I didn't move away. If he needed the comfort that badly, and if it was my hand that was giving it to him, I wasn't going to rip that comfort away just because I wanted to test a hypothesis. It also made me want to pull myself in closer to him, to give him more of my body to touch so that my fire melted away all of his problems. Again, I didn't want to test that hypothesis to see if it would actually work.

"Steve, you are seldom alone in anything," I said.

I left it at that. There really wasn't a need to elaborate it for him. Of course, some of the things he'd done, he was definitely alone in. Other things, not so much. He wasn't the first to sacrifice himself for the greater good, nor was he the first to live through that attempted sacrifice. He wasn't even the only person seventy years out of time. He wasn't the only super soldier, and he wasn't the only good man in the world, nor was he the only super hero in the world. He wasn't the only one who'd loved and lost, though his losing circumstances were incredibly unique, and he wasn't the only one who had technology or self-esteem problems. He wasn't the only one that fought, or even stood up to, bullies. I also didn't tell him that it was the collaboration of those things, and more, that I thought made him special. Yeah. No need to bring that up.

I patted his arm and smiled up at him. "And you're welcome," I added. "Also, you stole my line."

Steve frowned down at me, back to being absolutely baffled. My smile widened again until I was giving him a full grin. The frown dimmed some, and an emotion flashed behind his eyes so quickly that I barely had time to register it, let alone name it.

"What line?" he asked.

"I'm usually the one that says thank you. You stole my line," I explained.

He smiled and gave another breathy laugh, dipping his head down as if he were trying to hide some of his emotions. When he looked back up, his face was alight with humor.

"I guess I wanted to see what it felt like," he joked.

"And? How did it feel?" I asked.

He seemed to think about that for a moment. "It felt strange."

"Well, that's what you get for doing role-reversal," I jested.

I patted his arm again, this time making it more friendly than comforting. I stepped away from him, leaving him to turn on the television and choose whatever he wanted to watch. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do once I got far enough away from him, but I'd figure something out. Maybe I would go snooping in my grandparents' bedroom and see if I could find a good book to read. Or maybe I could check my email. Eh, checking my email would take maybe a minute or two, and then I'd be back to being bored with nothing to do. I could draw. No, I wasn't in the mood for that. Reading it was. I actually started moving toward the staircase again when the television turned on.

"What do you want to watch?" Steve asked suddenly.

I stopped moving, turning to look back at him. I'd already rounded the back of the couch, so we had a little bit of distance between us, seeing as how he was standing just in front of the coffee table, closer to the television than he was to me.

"Whatever you want to watch. You're the one that needs to catch up," I replied.

He stared at the remote for a second while some reality television show woman was doing a monologue about how she hated fake people. Oh, the irony. I couldn't stand reality shows, and was actually about to walk up to Steve and take the remote out of his hand when he pressed a button. The channel guide popped up on the screen and he started scrolling through the channels. I almost felt proud at how quickly he'd adapted to the remote and the television technology, but then I remembered that he'd had a few years to get this down pat. Hell, he probably had a television with a channel guide.

"Do you have any suggestions?" he asked as he scrolled through the channels.

I made my way around the couch again so I could see the screen better. I stood next to him, watching which channels he flipped past, and was extremely glad that he skipped some of the more idiotic programs.

"Well, if you want to watch a movie, my grandparents should have a movie channel package that you can find in the four hundreds. If you want to watch a show, I'd recommend Netflix so you can watch whatever show you want from the first season onward. I'm going to assume that someone already told you to not watch movies on channels that have commercials because everything good gets cut out," I said.

He pressed the numbered buttons, automatically taking us to the movie channels. He slowly scrolled through those, assessing which movie he wanted to watch and, I guessed, awaiting my input.

"Yeah, Tony told me that," he said. He looked down at me, his thumb hovering over the scroll button. "Do you have Netflix?"

"Yup," I replied. I motioned toward the TV and said, "Ghostbusters is good. And it just started. If you wanted to watch a staple of pop culture, that's one of the movies you need to see."

He blinked at me before returning his gaze to the television. The reality show was still playing in the top left hand corner of the screen, with a bunch of bitchy women all yelling at each other for some reason or other. Steve saved me, and the offending loudmouths, by turning on Ghostbusters just as the opening credits ended. How did he save the offending loudmouths? Because I would have found a way to jump through the screen and strangle them if they didn't shut up. I didn't care that it was physically impossible. I'd find a way, dammit. Also, so much for reading a book. I was so not going to miss Ghostbusters, nor was I going to miss Steve's reaction to it.

Without thinking, I reached over and patted Steve's arm again. I was going to have to learn to not do that. I didn't want it to become a habit, and I definitely didn't want to touch him any more than I had to. I'd already established how wonky my own brain went when I so much as laid a fingertip on him. More wonkiness was not what I needed, ever.

"Good choice," I said, immediately pulling my hand away.

With that, I went to plop myself on the left side of the couch and curled my body against the armrest. It took me a second and a half too long to realize I still had my boots on and that my grandmother would kill me if I got her couch dirty. In one quick motion, I had my feet planted firmly on the floor and I was working on unlacing my boots. I should have probably purchased some combat boots that had zipper on the sides so they were easier to take off, but I wanted authenticity. I wanted authenticity even if it meant that getting my foot stuck may mean my demise. They always showed that kind of crap in movies, where someone gets their foot stuck and you're screaming at them to just take off their damn shoe so they can free themselves. Yeah, I'd be the one people would be screaming at just because I refused to wear boots that had zippers.

"Whatever you do," I told Steve as he sat on the opposite end of the couch, "do not put your shoes on any of the furniture unless you want an ass whoopin' from Granny. Better yet, just take off your shoes for now. Barnes probably won't show up today."

I pulled off my boots and set them under the coffee table. Steve had set the remote on the coffee table, too. I grabbed it and quickly paused the movie. Ah, I loved having certain TV providers. I turned to watch Steve bend over and start pulling up the legs of his pants. Oh, look away, Dani, before you catch a glimpse of ankle and get all pilgrim horny. Thankfully for me and my odd new sense of prudishness, he only pulled the denim up to the middle of his calf before he started unlacing his own boots. Apparently I wasn't alone when it came to boot authenticity. Or he just thought the boots were comfortable. I was betting on the latter.

"Your grandma would really try to hurt me?" he asked, focusing on his feet.

"If you screwed up her furniture, she would. She wouldn't care if you were the President of the United States. If you get her stuff dirty, she will hurt you," I said.

"She sounds pretty tough," Steve said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Where do you think my mom got it from?" I replied.

He let out a laugh as he slipped his boots off and put them under the coffee table like I had done with mine. He was a fast learner. I liked that in people. It meant you only had to tell them stuff once before they fucking obeyed your orders. I'd almost lost charges because they weren't fast learners when it came to anything, let alone listening to and obeying my life-saving commands. I liked that Steve made my job easier. You know, except for that whole "I can't think when he touches me or has his shirt off" bit.

I pulled my legs back on to the couch as I pulled my mind out of the dark corner it had crawled in to. You weren't supposed to think about stupid people, work, or sex when you were about to watch Ghostbusters. You were just supposed to think about Ghostbusters. I figured the best way to do that was to turn the movie on, so I did.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

About thirty minutes in to the movie, the timer for whatever food was in the oven went off, beeping loudly enough to drown out some of the movie's dialogue. Steve and I moved at the same time, pushing ourselves away from the couch to go stop the timer and get the food out of the oven. Yeah, no. That was unacceptable. He needed to watch this movie. I'd seen it more times than I could count, so I would be the one to go grab lunch. Plus, he'd put the food in the oven. It was only fair that I got it out.

I snapped my fingers at him to get his attention, pointed down, then pointed at the television screen. Without words, I told him he needed to sit his ass back down on the couch and watch the damn movie. Apparently he got my unspoken message because he lowered himself back on to the couch, a small smirk blooming on his face as he turned to look at the screen. I seriously loved it when people didn't argue with me and just did what I told them to. Steve was winning the Best Charge Ever Award on that alone.

I practically jogged to the kitchen so I could turn off the timer. Steve needed to hear every last line of this movie, dammit, and no timer would get in the way of that. As I turned off the timer and pulled out a pot holder and oven mitts, I wondered if I would actually get the chance to give him a proper movie education. I could show him the Harry Potter movies, Star Wars, Star Trek, The Goonies, and all of the pop culture staples from the past seventy years. I'd probably wait on stuff like Pulp Fiction and Die Hard. Yeah, I'd show him the geeky stuff first, then move in to everything else. Was I building my own agenda to turn Steve in to a geek? Yes, I was. I'd have that man wielding light sabers and wearing a Gryffindor tie in no time. Maybe. Probably not. Eh, we'd see how it went.

I grabbed the aluminum pan out of the oven and found that Steve had not, in fact, chosen lasagna. The liar. He'd chosen baked spaghetti. Oh, he'd just gotten himself in to a heap of trouble. He could never go back to any other baked spaghetti after he tasted this one and he'd be hitting up my Granny for the recipe. Everyone did. My own family had been nagging her for years to release the secret recipe, and my mom was telling her to at least put it in the will, because if the world had to be deprived on one good then it couldn't be deprived of another. Granny had accused my mom of trying to eat off of her grave before she was even in it, which I'd found disgustingly morbid and weird, but that she would at least give the proposition some thought. Welcome to my family, where we accuse people of eating off of graves and think about putting recipes in to wills.

Steve's laugh broke me of my thoughts about my odd family, and got me back in the mindset that food was necessary at this particular point in time. I got out two plates and two forks, and started to dish out some of the deliciousness. I had a thought that I was glad that Steve was laughing at the movie. It meant he liked it, on some level. It also meant that I got to listen to his laugh, which was ear candy as much as he was eye candy. It was a good laugh that came from his chest and throat, and often had him tossing his head backward with it. He was one of those people that laughed with their entire body rather than just their voice, and boy, was it a delight to see and hear.

I walked back to the couch with the full plates in hand. I carefully lowered his plate down in front of him and he took it with an appreciative smile. With a quick upturn of my lips, I returned the smile, then went to plop myself down in my spot on the couch so I could finish watching the movie. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him lift up his fork and get a bite of food on the tines. I had to see this. I shifted in my seat, moving so I could be in a comfortable position to watch both him and the screen without him noticing that I was watching him. His eyes were glued to the television as he lifted the fork to his mouth. It took a split second after he started chewing for the full flavor of the meal to register in his brain, and apparently, he thought it was delicious. He actually closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to savor the taste that consumed his tongue. I sat on my side of the couch, beaming with pride because Granny wasn't there to do it herself. Hell, part of it was my pride, too. I was proud that he liked Granny's famous baked spaghetti, and I was proud that the woman even had famous baked spaghetti.

Steve's eyes opened as Venkman said something on the screen. It was like he'd forgotten that he was watching the movie. He looked over at me, probably to see if I'd caught him not paying attention, and if I had caught him, if I was upset about it. What he found was me smiling from ear to ear and trying to split my attention like it was a fraying hair. So many emotions crossed his face, from humor to confusion to attraction to worry. I wasn't sure what the worry was all about, but I didn't have much time to wonder. He finally settled on perplexed with a good helping of happiness around the edges, as if my massive smile was contagious. I actually caught him trying to fight down a smile until it looked like his face was made up of split personalities. His eyes were bemused while his mouth was twisted in to a half smile that bordered on a wicked smirk.

Maybe it was the good mood I was in, the fact that I was eating excellent food, the fact that I was watching a funny movie, or all of the above, but I laughed. I laughed at how silly and handsome he looked with his face split in two by emotions like he was a horizontal version of Two-Face. Well, to be more accurate, I laughed then swallowed the sound back down before it could escape my mouth, so it made a strange humming sound in the middle of my throat. I coughed, trying to cover up the hum, and pointed at the screen. Once again, he got my unspoken communication, seeing as it was so easy to decipher, and turned back to the television as amusement kicked bemusement out of his eyes.

By the time the movie ended, both plates were empty and set on the coffee table, and Steve was singing the movie's praises. Okay, he wasn't exactly singing praises, but he was telling me he'd liked it and would watch it again, which was just as good, in my opinion. I asked him which of the four Ghostbusters had been his favorite, and he hadn't been able to answer. He made good arguments for liking them all for their unique qualities, but he simply couldn't pick a favorite. I should have known better than to ask Mr. Moral to choose someone, but I just had to know who he'd liked best, and now, I would be guessing on his favoritism forever. Or until I completely forgot about asking him who his favorite had been.

What he did end up singing the praises of was my grandmother's baked spaghetti. There was a surprise. Yeah, and I was the Pope. He asked me what she put in it, and all I could do was shrug and tell him I had no fucking clue. He didn't quite seem to believe me, or maybe didn't want to believe me, because he gave me a look that clearly said he didn't like the answer I gave him. I'd shrugged again and told him that the only person who knew what was in the recipe was Granny, and that she wasn't giving up that secret any time soon. He'd let it go, then, and I'd picked up the plates and set off to the kitchen to wash them.

My hands were covered in water and soap suds when the alert on the laptop shrilled through the room. I scrambled to wipe my hands on a towel and run to the laptop to see exactly what was going on. Of course, with that particular alert sound, I already knew what was going on. Steve was already trying to get the alert to stop so he could see the surveillance footage behind the big red flashing ALERT box, but he didn't know the system well enough to enough to even type in a simple command, let alone stop an entire alarm. With an apology, I turned the laptop away from him and folded myself over the keyboard. A few quick taps and the alert was gone, and we were staring at a disguised Barnes, who was casually walking through what looked like a semi-crowded mall.

Barnes was wearing a pair of jeans that looked like they had just started to have their dark color fade from use, a black shirt, and a dark canvas jacket, similar to the one from the Smithsonian, with the collar neatly folded down around his neck. A pair of black tennis shoes were on his feet, though they looked so worn I could have sworn that they had been previously owned. A black baseball cap was on his head. There was no sweep of dark hair coming down to his shoulders or beyond, and for a moment that confused me. Had he got a haircut? It wouldn't surprise me, but Wilson's intel hadn't said anything about shorter hair. Had he gone to a barber within few days that he'd been off the map? Or had he done it himself? All questions were quickly answered when I realized he hadn't gotten a haircut at all. He'd very carefully tucked the length of his hair under the ball cap and had somehow secured it there, giving him the illusion of having short hair.

He wasn't the master of disguise, but if I'd been staring at surveillance screens all day, I'd have never known it was Barnes. So why did our system say it was him? I tapped a couple of keys, typing in a specific command to bring up the image that had set off the alert while keeping the still playing footage in the background. The one still image showed his mistake. He'd looked up. Just like in the Cap exhibit, he'd looked up, only this time, hundreds, if not thousands of cameras were waiting at my beck and call to catch him. It looked like he'd only done a passing sweep of the area, just enough for him to know part of the layout of the top and bottom floors, and what might be of use to him on the top floor. Knowing Barnes and military ops guys in general, it was also probably a sweep for bad guys.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I groaned.

"What?" Steve asked.

He moved closer to me, hovering over my shoulder so he could see the screen clearly. He was so close that I felt him stiffen as he saw his friend's still shot on one side of the screen, and then saw him strolling around the mall, seemingly without a care in the world on the other side of the screen. What Steve didn't know was that it was a live feed, and was watching his buddy in real time. I did know that, and I also knew that if we hurried, and if Barnes stayed in the mall, we might be able to catch him. We might be able to go back to base, and I might be able to get the hell away from Steve before we both did something stupid. Of course, I'd already done enough of something stupid for the both of us. I'd not only taken us out of the city. I'd taken us a couple of hours away from the city.

"I already took off my shoes," I griped.

I could feel Steve's displeased glare like a weight on the side of my face. I knew, I just knew, what he was thinking. How could I possibly be complaining about having already making myself comfortable when it was my job to throw comfort away when Barnes popped up? How could I possibly bitch when we'd actually found our target? I fought back a frown, trying to keep my face neutral. Yeah, I was bitching like a whiny snob, but it had nothing to do with my shoes and the fact that I was comfortable. It had to do with the fact that I'd made a decision to leave the city, and I'd fucked up. If Hydra agents hadn't shown up at the hotel, and if I hadn't been worried about keeping Steve safe, we would have probably been close enough to whatever mall he was in to be there within the hour. But now, we were at least two hours away from any major mall that Barnes would visit. My decision, which was brought on by my thinking the city was too dangerous, had cost us valuable time.

"Don't look at me like that," I said, coldly. I tapped in a command to see which mall the footage was coming from. "I'm pissed at myself. Not at the fact I took off my shoes. I made a shitty joke as a self-preservation tactic, and like always, that shit didn't work."

That seemed to surprise Steve, to the point that I felt his glare dissipate. He probably hadn't been expecting brutal honesty or that cold of a tone from me. He'd learn eventually that brutal honesty was my forte as much as my powers were. Sure, I had to lie for my job and to protect my own shattered emotions, but for the most part, I tried to be honest. I also had to keep my powers under wrap for civilians and most of the other agents, but that was a big part of me, too.

The name of the mall popped up on the bottom of the screen. Barnes was in Ross Park Mall in Pittsburg. Yep. Now I was super pissed at myself. We definitely could have been there within the hour if we'd just stayed in the city. We had to move out, and we had to do it fast. I moved away from the computer, my short legs making long strides to take me to the stairs. Steve followed on my heels, probably waiting for orders. So, I gave them to him.

"Grab whatever weapons you think you may need for this. Wear a disguise, preferably a hat and loose clothes," I said as I bounded up the stairs.

"Why are you mad at yourself?" Steve asked.

That was an odd question to ask at a time like this. His best friend had just popped back up on our radar and he was wondering why I was pissed at myself. You'd think he'd be all gung-ho to figure out where the hell we were going, but instead he was asking about my well-being. I didn't know if I should be flattered that he cared or worried that he wasn't freaking out about Barnes. He'd sure as hell freaked out in the car the day before. I didn't have much time to worry about Steve's sudden change of mind, or heart, or lung or anything else. I'd worry about his reaction when I had the time to worry about it, which would no doubt be when I was breaking speeding laws on our way to Pittsburg.

"I'll tell you in the car," I said as I hit the top step and bounded toward my room.

I left him at the top of the stairs and rushed in to my won room, closing the door behind me. I made quick work of changing my clothes in to something I wouldn't usually wear. We had to be discreet, and that meant that I had to go at least somewhat undercover. I put on a white, short sleeved crop top with a high neckline over a nude push-up bra. The bra kept my breasts out of the way of drawing my gun, as well as gave me the illusion if bigger breasts. A full black skirt that stopped just above my knees was quickly fastened around the bend of my waist, letting the smooth, pale skin over my diaphragm and the bottom of my ribs touch the open air. A pair of shorts went under the skirt and over a pair of nude colored panties so I didn't end up flashing anyone if I got in to a fight. A pair of black, zip-up ankle boots with thick, two-inch heels went on my feet. I slipped on my shoulder holster and my leather jacket before pulling incredibly long, black clip-in extensions from my bag. With a few quick adjustments and snaps, I suddenly had hair down to my waist. I pulled all of that hair together and fashioned it in to a low, loose braid that let some of my natural hair fall haphazardly around my face. A floppy tan sunhat with a black satin band around the head and rim went on my head, and I put on matte red lipstick, eyeliner, blush, and several coats of mascara to complete the look. I was as disguised as I was going to get without changing my eye, hair, and skin color. I didn't have time to put on any kind of self-tan product, so I was going to be as white as milk for this venture, and I sure as hell wasn't going to waste time with a wig and contact lenses now. I shoved an extra clip of ammo, a throwaway cell phone, and a driver's license in to my jacket, and was all set to go track down Barnes.

I walked out of the room and made my way back down the stairs to grab the laptop. I needed to pull up Google Maps or something so we could get directions to the mall. Steve was already downstairs. Of course he was. He didn't have to go through the rigmarole of putting in extensions and adding guns to his person. All he'd had to do was put on a plaid button down over his t-shirt, a bulky brown jacket, and a blue hat, and he was done. Though, hadn't I told him to grab weapons? Yeah, I had. But hey, he was a weapon in and of himself, and I had enough ammo to cover us. I also had my mutant abilities if we got in to serious shit. He was standing in front of the laptop, staring down at the screen as Barnes moved around the mall. I guess he'd figured out that it was a live feed, because he was just watching his friend move from camera view to camera view as if he would memorize every last twitch of the man's muscles.

Unfortunately, we didn't have time for him to just stand there and reminisce or memorize or whatever, and I wasn't in the mood to be diplomatic about his feelings when we needed to get moving. I was certain that would also change in the car, when I actually had the time and the brain capacity to not be a cold hard bitch on a mission. I swooped in, my fingers automatically going to the keyboard to bring up a map system. Steve didn't say anything, or so much as make a peep of an argument. He got a point for that. I didn't need an argument right now. I needed to get us going. I typed in the mall's address, which I'd obtained when I'd searched for the source of the surveillance footage, and got us some directions.

I was all business when I looked over my shoulder at Steve. Steve was so far from business that he was in the Bahamas with a mixed drink in his hand. He stared at me, then back at the screen, as if his mind wasn't sure what to focus on. So many emotions passed through his eyes, and it actually took the edge off of my pissy mood. Guess I wasn't going to wait for the car ride, after all. I couldn't stay upset when looking up it to that face, especially not when it was being bombarded with feelings.

Relief, worry, anticipation, attraction, surprise, confusion, and pain swirled through the blue depths of his eyes, which were only made bluer by his hat and the blue and white plaid shirt. I got why he was having a hard time looking away from me. I'd completely changed my look. I'd gone from biker chick to hipster chic, and I was wearing makeup. It was a complete one-eighty from what I usually looked like, and even acted like, so I wasn't surprised that he was struggling to not stare. It was nice that I could change my appearance enough to even have my charge look at me like I was a different person. It meant I was doing my job, and doing it well, even with a limited time frame. But I didn't need him staring at me right now. I needed him to be focused, and at that moment, I needed him focused on the screen.

"Steve, I'll need you to be in charge of the laptop," I said. "You'll flip through these two screens like this," I switched between the surveillance footage and the directions map, making sure he saw what I was doing, "and give me directions and tell me if Barnes is still being picked up by the mall cameras, and if he is, I want to know where he's going in the mall."

Steve gave me one curt nod, a single gesture to tell me heard my orders and would obey them. In my mind, I added that he'd obey them like a Gryffindor, which basically meant that he'd break them if he had to. I added nothing else to the briefing. We'd talk more in the car. Gods knew we had enough fucking time for it. I snatched up the car keys and we were on our way out.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Steve sat in the passenger seat with me behind the wheel, driving like a soul that had escaped from the deepest pits of hell. I'd had enough common sense in me to turn on the house's alarm system before we tore out of the long driveway. Well, you couldn't really tear out of a dirt driveway that was riddled with rocks unless you wanted dings in your car, so I'd more carefully sped down the long driveway and then tore out on to the deserted asphalt road. Steve had done a good job of holding on to the laptop without crushing it while I'd whipped the car this way and that. He hadn't even crushed what my family called the "Oh Shit" handle that was mounted on the roof of the car next to the passenger window. Yeah, I could almost hear him stomping on the invisible break on his side of the car, and we weren't even out of the main highway yet. Hell, we weren't even a mile away from the house yet. I felt a little bit proud of myself for startling America's hero. To me, it meant I could scare the hell out of some big baddies down the line. Yay me.

As soon as we were on the open road, where I didn't have to swerve every five seconds to not hit a rock or an animal or a sign, Steve let out a barely audible whoosh of air from his lungs and relaxed in to his seat. There was still a small amount of tension in his body, as if he were just waiting for me to start turning donuts in the middle of the road. Or maybe that wasn't it.

"Why are you mad at yourself?" he asked suddenly.

Yep. Car-whipping was not why he still had tension in him. At least it wasn't the sole reason, anyway. And of course, stupid me, I'd completely forgotten that I'd told him we'd have this particular conversation in the car. No, "forgotten" wasn't the right word, or even the right phrase, to use. I'd been so focused on getting the hell out of there that I'd pushed all superlative conversations completely out of my mind. I hadn't forgotten. I'd willingly forced the memory out. Steve hadn't, though. No, apparently he kept the superlative conversations under lock and key in his memory until he could unleash them on unsuspecting people. Or he was actually worried about my mental wellbeing. Or he was trying to keep his mind off of Barnes. Whatever the reason, he wanted to talk about my issues. Lovely.

I let out a sigh and settled in to my seat a little. "If I hadn't taken us out of the city, we'd be within an hour of the mall. As of right now, we're about two and a half hours away. If we go the speed limit, of course, which we won't be. So we're about an hour and a half away. Barnes could be long gone by the time we get there, and then we'll be walking on pins and needles around the laptop until he shows up again."

"You're mad you took us out of the city?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. I just said that," I replied, keeping my eyes locked on the road.

"Why would you be mad about that?" he asked. "That Hydra agent, Thompson, he told us that we were being monitored, too. They would have found us in the city, and you know that."

"No, actually, I don't," I argued. "Barnes has been in the city for what? Three, four days that we know about, and he's only popped up in our system twice. He doesn't even know the security layout of the places he's going, but he's only popped up twice. That's a fucking miracle, especially in a city because everyone and their brother has a surveillance camera. But we have full knowledge of every security camera in Pittsburg _and_ the surrounding cities and states. We could easily hide ourselves or completely bypass any place that has surveillance footage. I just didn't think of that because I wanted to get you the hell out of there."

Steve was silent for a moment, as if he were trying to fully understand my reasoning for being angry at myself. Sucks for him, though, because sometimes my self-reprimanding had nothing to do with logic or reason.

"You're mad at yourself for getting me to safety?" He made it a question, and a slightly incredulous one at that.

"In a way," I sighed, "yes. I took you too far from the city and too far from your mission, thereby fucking up everything, when you'd have been only a smidgen less safe in the city."

"More safe is better than less safe," he stated. "And Dani, you had no idea where Bucky was. You said it yourself that he could have been out of the state by now."

"I said nothing of the sort," I argued, frowning.

Had he read my mind or something? I was certain that I'd kept that particular bit of information locked in my head. I'd hinted at it, sure, but I hadn't outright said that I'd thought that Barnes could be long gone by now.

"No," he acquiesced, "but you didn't have to. You expanded the search for him to the surrounding states. That means that you thought he wasn't going to be staying in Pennsylvania." Oh. Yeah, that explained why he knew I didn't think Barnes in the state. Gods, I was so off my game it wasn't funny. "You had no idea that he'd stay in the state, and you absolutely had no idea that he would stay in Pittsburg. You did what was best for the both of us. You shouldn't be mad at yourself for that."

I sucked in a deep breath that filled my lungs to the point that they almost ached, then blew the air out in a heavy sigh. Goddammit, why did he have to be right? Because he was reasonable, that was why. Id' heard from Natasha, from the other Avengers, and even from Fury, that Rogers was reasonable even when he was loaded down with grief and anger. Well, except for the time that he put a fist through one of Zola's computers when the program was taunting him. That wasn't so reasonable, but hey, it was a lot less than I would have done. With my powers I would have just fried every last piece of equipment in the place. But seriously, damn him for being reasonable when I wanted to be mad at myself.

"You're right," I said. "I hate it, but you're right."

"Why do you hate that I'm right?" he asked. "Now you don't have to be mad at yourself."

"Because," I said, with a long pause at the end of the word, "being mad at myself is one of my talents. Logical or not, I'm really good at that whole self-loathing thing."

"Why?" he inquired.

There was so much emotion crammed in to that one word. Gods, his voice was like his face when he wanted it to be. There was confusion, as usual, but there was skepticism and suspicion and worry, as well. And all of it was aimed at me with a simple three letter word. I stayed silent for a good while, just trying to figure out how to put my reasoning in to words without revealing too much. Could I tell him why my self-loathing was so strong without him trying to talk me out of it? Hell, everyone else had, so why wouldn't he? Could I put a caveat on it? Yeah. Could he throw that caveat to the wind like it was a scrap of paper on a blustery day? Yeah, he could. Could I handle it if he did that? Not without getting pissed at him, no. With yet another sigh, I decided to just say fuck it and tell him the brutal truth. Brutal honesty and saying "fuck it" was another talent of mine. Besides, he already knew at least part of the reason I hated myself.

"Because I still have nightmares about a mistake I made three years ago that got my sister killed. I still blame myself for her death, regardless of what anyone says, and that self-hatred likes to bleed over in to other decisions I make. And don't…don't tell me that it wasn't my fault, because I'm not going to believe you."

Once again, Steve was silent. The air was thick with discomfort, though I wasn't sure if it was his or if it was my own. That sort of admission could make therapists squirm, and it had actually made it more difficult for my family to talk about Katie around me. They didn't know how to help me when I kept shoving them and their well-meaning attempts away so I could bask in my own anger. Steve finally broke the silence as we flew past a sign that told us we were getting close to the highway.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

I felt some of the tension drain from the car, and I realized that it had been me. I had been the one creating the fog of discomfort. But those two words, those two simple words, allowed me to let go. He hadn't tried to talk me out of my self-loathing. He hadn't said it wasn't my fault. He hadn't even brought Katie up, or the terrorists, or anything about that horrific day that still plagued my dreams. The dreams that he now probably knew he'd woken me from the night before. All he could say to make me feel better was an admission of how badly he felt about my situation, and that, for some reason, made me feel better.

"Me, too," I muttered.

We rode in silence for a long while, with only Steve's updates on Barnes and his directions breaking through the sounds of tires whirring over asphalt. I hadn't exactly expected him to be talkative after I'd admitted to what my nightmares were about, and to the fact that I was filled with self-loathing, so I didn't sweat the silence. What I did sweat was when he broke the silence to start talking about something other than the mission.

"I blamed myself when I thought Bucky died," he said suddenly.

I fought to not look at him, to keep my eyes on the road as I swerved around slower cars that were in my way. That hadn't been in his file. Of course it wasn't. Why would it be? It unnerved me, though, that he was suddenly sharing this part of his life with me. Why? I didn't really know. I mean, sure, I'd just shared that I blamed myself for my sister's death, but I didn't think he'd take that as an invitation to let me further in to his head. Apparently I'd thought wrong. I said the first thing that came to mind, the first thing that I hoped wouldn't sound rude. I tried to make it as neutral as possible, but it ended up having a bit of curiosity looping around the end of it as the word slipped off of my tongue.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," he replied. "I was the one who asked him to help me bring down Hydra, and when he fell from the train…" he paused, as if the memory was still too fresh in his mind to not talk about it without getting emotional. Sure, his friend was alive, but that didn't take away from the pain of having thought he was dead, from the pain of having watched him fall in to a snowy ravine, from the pain of not being able to save him. "I blamed myself. I brought him in, and I couldn't save him. I was mad at myself. I was mad at Zola. I was mad at Hydra. I was just mad."

I didn't know what to say to that. Once again, we had a shared experience. The outcomes were very different. Barnes was alive, and Katie was never going to walk around again, but we both knew that anger. We both knew the damage, the rage, that came with blaming yourself. I did the only thing I could think to do. I shifted my hands on the steering wheel so my left hand had a good grip on the leather, then held my right hand out to him over the center console. I never once took my eyes off of the road, even when Steve's large hand slipped in to mine. Surprisingly, my skin didn't ignite with fire or other emotions when his skin touched mine. It was just a hand, heavy and warm and attached to someone who needed comfort. I gave his hand a light squeeze, one of reassuring and kinship, and said the only thing I could say.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Me, too," he replied.

By the time we got to the mall, my fear had been realized. Barnes was gone. We'd missed him by about thirty minutes or so. Dammit. So why hadn't we turned around to head back to the house? Because I had some investigating to do. I had a fake cop badge that looked so real it had fooled actual cops, and I was planning on acting like a plainclothes undercover detective in order to get some sort of insight in to what Barnes was doing. Steve had told me that the last store Barnes had gone in to had been JC Penney's, of all places, and that he'd actually purchased something there. That meant that he'd talked to at least one clerk, and had possibly given out some sort of information about his whereabouts. Sure, it was a long shot, but it was the only thing we had.

Steve and I sat in the car while I reviewed the video of Barnes going in to the JC Penney's. He'd managed to walk around the store without any employees coming up to him. Dammit. Not like he'd give them much information, but still, if he was even a little bit chatty, he'd have given them something. Instead, he'd made it through to the mens' section without being approached, grabbed some clothes from the racks, and gone to check out. The young man who'd helped him was probably around five foot seven, and had what looked like light brown hair and a nice tan. The footage was somewhat grainy, so I tried to my hardest to look at what he was wearing rather than just look at his face. The face would give me very little at this juncture, especially with him moving around so much. He wore a short sleeved, dark blue button down shirt with his nametag pinned to a left breast pocket. Another camera angle showed me that he was wearing black slacks and comfortable black sneakers. That helped. Not only did I know what our clerk looked like, but I also knew how many cameras were angled at that particular cash register and how many cameras were angled in the spot that Barnes had gone to. I counted that as a minor victory.

I closed the laptop without powering it down and slid it under my seat until it was well hidden from view. I turned to Steve, who was looking down at the floorboards. I didn't need the full view of his handsome face to tell that he was disappointed that Barnes had slipped through our fingers. We'd been so close. If only I'd gone faster. No, no that would have been bad. I'd already been pushing ninety-five miles per hour most of the way to the mall. Any faster and I would have increased our chances of being in a car accident. I could control our car, but it was the other cars I couldn't control. I'd have had to concentrate on an entire moving highway to keep us safe while controlling out car, and my power wouldn't have been able to do that much work in a split second situation. Plus, we'd hit traffic. Of course, we'd hit traffic. The bane of my fucking existence. I was halfway certain that if we hadn't hit the stand still about an hour out from the mall, we'd have been there in time to catch Barnes in the middle of his shopping. But we hadn't, and now we had to improvise a plan. I had one, but I wasn't sure how much Steve would like it. Hell, I wasn't sure how much I liked it.

I turned to Steve in my seat and rested a small hand on his massive shoulder. Once again, no odd sensations zinged up my arm or muddied my thought process. Maybe I had just been having a bad morning? Yeah. Yeah, that had to be it. Please let that be it. He lifted his head, letting his sad eyes meet my carefully neutral ones. His eyes suddenly clouded with something I didn't quite understand before the sadness leaked away in favor of professionalism. Shit. I'd had a bad morning alright, but that wasn't why I suddenly wasn't being affected by touching him. This morning, I'd needed the comfort. I'd needed the distraction. I'd needed the grounding. His touch had provided that for me, as well as uh…other stuff that I didn't want to think about. He'd been the calm one then.

Now I was the calm one, the one hell bent on getting information. Yeah, I was upset that we'd missed Barnes because traffic was a massive whorebag, but I had a plan in place to help us find him, and that had calmed me down enough to think clearly. Steve was upset, visibly so, because we'd been so close to getting his friend back. We'd been so close to finally ending the search, to finally reuniting them so they could both go back to being best buds. My touch wiped away all that sadness, all that regret, and brought him back to being the badass that could push his own pain aside so he could work a mission. Yeah, he'd have gotten to this point eventually, but my hand on his shoulder brought him back to the surface of himself within a mere couple of seconds. The inexplicable connection was still there, but Steve was the only one on the receiving end this time. I tried like hell to force the thought of an impossible connection out of my head, and focused instead on telling him my plan.

"We have to go in," I said, "but we can't be noticed by the cameras. The best way to do that is to keep our heads down and stay close to each other." I took a deep breath, readying myself for what I was about to propose. "I think it would be best if we acted like a smitten couple. People tend to look away from giddy couples because it's sickening to watch people make googly eyes at each other. That will also help with things for if we need to talk to each other so no one can hear us. People will just think we're whispering sweet nothings in to each others' ears. I'm also going to pretend to be a cop when we get to the store clerk, so you're going to have to follow my lead on that. Actually…just follow my lead on everything."

Steve listened intently to my plan, his eyes staying steady on mine as I spoke. He looked apprehensive when I said that we should act like a smitten couple. To be completely honest, I felt bad for proposing it. I'd already dragged him in to at least two situations where we were a couple, and now I was proposing we did it a third time. Sure, he was attracted to me, but that didn't mean that he was excited about basically lying about being my boyfriend. And if I was being entirely honest, I was apprehensive myself. We had this weird, impossible give and take going on between us, and I really didn't want to feed in to that if I didn't have to. I had a feeling that pretending to be a smitten couple would only make this connection worse. I didn't want that.

I watched him as countless thoughts passed through his eyes, all of them flying by so quickly that I couldn't catch even one to decipher. If I had to guess, I was betting that he was weighing his options and the logistics of the plan. Maybe he was even thinking about our impossible connection. I was going to start calling it the Zeus-Connection is this shit kept up.

After a long moment of silence he asked, "Do we have to kiss?"

That got a smile out of me. With everything that was going on, with all of the scary emotional thoughts rattling around in my brain, that got a smile out of me. Maybe it was the fact that he sounded curious rather than eager or sad when he inquired about exactly how intimate we'd be getting, but it made me smile nonetheless. His lips tried to turn up, as if my smile were contagious, but he fought it like the dickens. He tried his best to keep a neutral face as I shook my head.

"No. No kissing. If we have to get that close, the hats can just give us the illusion of intimacy," I stated."

He seemed to think about that for a moment, and for a split second I could have sworn I'd seen disappointment flash through his eyes. Yeah, that wasn't something I wanted to think about too deeply, or, you know, at all. I was doing pretty good so far about not feeling all hot and bothered by him, and I really didn't want to ruin that. I prayed to whatever deity was listening that I wouldn't get hot and bothered by him again. Not in the mall, not on the ride back to the boondocks, and not when we were back at my grandparents' house. My eye was drawn back to Steve as he nodded.

"Okay," he said."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Like the good bodyguard that I was, I got out of the car first and scanned the parking lot for anyone that looked even remotely like a bad guy. Once I was sure that there was nothing but cars and shoppers, I tapped on the driver side door to let Steve know it was okay to exit the vehicle. Why didn't I go around the car to get him like an actual good bodyguard? Because I wasn't playing the clingy girlfriend. I was playing the giddy girlfriend, and opening your boyfriend's door for him looked more like a demand than chivalry. He got out, and I locked the car as he made his way around the tailgate to join me at the back left corner of the car. We'd had to park in the middle of the parking lot aisle due to the amount of cars taking up the spaces closer to the mall. I wasn't too upset about that. It meant that there should be enough people in the mall for any bad guys to second guess themselves when it came to attacking us. However, it also meant that if we did get in to trouble, we'd have further to run in order to make our escape. It was a win-lose situation.

Once Steve was close enough to touch, I turned on the giddy girlfriend act. My left hand slipped in to his right and I put a little spring in my step as we headed for the doors of the mall. Steve's hand was still warm and heavy in mine, just like it had been in the car, and thankfully for us both, there wasn't even a twinge of that earlier connection on either of our sides. I prayed and hoped and wished that it would stay that way. Getting distracted now would be incredibly bad. I had to get close to him, and I had to maintain a clear head while I did so, otherwise we were sitting ducks with targets on our backs and neon signs over our heads saying "MURDER US!" Being murdered and getting Steve murdered were two things that would never even come close to being on my To-Do list. So, I sent a message out to the universe to just let us do this mission without either of us getting googly eyes for real.

We made our way to the front of the mall in silence, with neither of us quite sure what to say. Well, I knew I wasn't sure what to say. Not just yet, anyway. What do you say to your charge when you're on an intel mission, holding said charge's hand, and pretending like you were his overenthusiastic girlfriend? Nothing. You said nothing, because anything you could possibly say would just make it more awkward. Besides, I was too busy trying to not get us killed while also trying to not get us in a relationship. Both were harder said than done sometimes.

My eyes discreetly scanned the parking lot as we got closer to the mall doors, making sure that no one was following us. We were just a couple of tourists who needed to go shopping, and I was just super excited to be here, like, oh my gawd. Yeah. And the Pope was Protestant. Steve opened one of the glass double doors as we approached it and let me go in first like the gentleman he was. Of course, the bodyguards always go in first. Unless, of course, they were making sure their charge got a fake rat shot at them. In that case, they stood back and laughed.

The inside of the mall was like any other busy mall. The floors were shiny, and the walls were made up of store fronts. This mall had a second story and some escalators like some big city malls tend to have. I already knew we need to go up the escalator to get to JC Penney's. I gripped Steve's hand and pulled him in closer to the line of my body as we made our way in to the mass of meandering shoppers. I actually pulled him in so close that it was almost difficult for us to walk side by side without either of us swerving or faltering. Apparently neither of us had been in relationships where walking hip to hip was commonplace. The heels weren't helping me, either. They were the shortest I could get, so I could actually walk in them, but combine them with this weird, close walking thing and I was practically tripping over my own toes.

My right hand went to his bicep to keep myself steady while also putting my hand close to my gun. If we did hit trouble, I wouldn't have to waste seconds by bringing my arm around my body. Now, all I had to do was move it a few inches and I'd have the butt of the gun in my hand. A faster draw meant we could get the drop on whatever baddie had the bead on us. Wow. Even in my own head that sounded like a cliché line from an 80's B-movie buddy cop flick. Also, holy crap, Steve's bicep was rock hard. I hadn't had the opportunity to touch him like this since my apartment. It was almost like my fingers had forgotten the touch of him, the firmness of him under my hand, just so I could be shocked when I touched him again. Dick move, phalanges!

I tilted my head up to check on Steve and found that he was keeping his head down like I'd told him to. In fact, his head was so far down that he was staring straight at me. Pretty sure I hadn't told him to do that, but whatever. It wasn't like I needed his eyes to be elsewhere looking for bad guys or anything. No, not at all. Ugh. This was the reason I hated going undercover, especially as a stereotypical girly-girl. The snark in my brain, which was bad enough already, got turned up so high that I aimed sarcasm at anything that happened to pass through my field of vision. I didn't have enough "everything nice" in my sugar and spice to be doing this type of shit. Yeah, no. My "everything nice" was a gun in your face, my sugar was brown, and my spice was curry powder.

Since Steve's eyes were on me, I took it upon myself to look at the crowd that we passed through as I pulled him toward the escalators. It also gave me the chance to escape from my sarcastic mind and focus almost strictly on business. I'd plastered on one of my bright smiles in the parking lot, and now, in the middle of everyone, I turned it up. I was going to be addressing the cutie patootie boyfriend that was staring down at me, so I had to have a big ole smile for just for his pretty eyes. Gag me with a spoon. Once I'd made sure that we weren't going to run in to anyone, that I couldn't see anyone that looked like a bad guy, and that we were on the right track to getting on an escalator, I turned that bright smile on Steve.

I looked up at him, and watched the breath start to catch in his chest. His eyes were on my burgundy red matte lips, which were visibly full even though they were pulled in to a wide smile. He slid those blue orbs up my beaming to face to find that the look in my eyes was professional at best, and cynical at worst. No one but him would be close enough to read my eyes, not when our gazes were focused on each other, so I could let my eyes slip. Now I was stuck between wondering if that was a bad or good idea, because the breath went out of his chest and he suddenly looked way too serious. Goddammit, I knew he was bad at lying, but this was ridiculous. Eh, I'd work on it next time. For right now, I needed to know why he was staring at me and give him the lowdown on what we were doing.

"Why are you staring at me?" I asked in a near whisper.

My voice was a few octaves higher than normal, taking me from a smoky alto to a smoky soprano. I made it so my voice was like candy to anyone within hearing range, so all they could really focus on was the tone rather than the words. The words themselves were innocent, as was the inflection of them, but I wanted my voice to make it seem like I was being more intimate, that the sweet sound that floated to their ears was a bedroom voice meant for only one person. People tended to tune out intimate voices if said voice wasn't directed at them. No one around us made any move to look at us. In fact, some people tensed and walked a bit faster. Ah, public intimacy. Making people uncomfortable since….whenever. Steve tensed bit, too, only he looked shocked rather than uncomfortable. This new, sweeter me was throwing him for a loop. Me giving him cold eyes and that high, sweet bedroom voice at the same time had put him on a rollercoaster. I watched him pull that surprise back until it was just normal, professional Steve staring down at me.

"I was wondering where exactly we were going," he stated.

Oh, goody! Two conversation birds with one stone! How convenient. I moved my hand down his arm, following the curve of his bicep until I landed in the bend of his elbow. It was a very sensual gesture. To the outside world, it probably looked like he was apprehensive about something and I was trying to talk him in to whatever he didn't want to do. Perfect. I may hate going undercover, and I may hate acting like a giddy girlfriend, but I'd be damned if I wasn't a fucking expert at it. Well, most of it, anyway.

In that same sweet, high whisper, I said, "JC Penney's is on the second floor. We need to get to the escalator. Once we're in the store, we're going up to the clerk that helped Barnes check out, and asking him to show us what clothes would best fit your body. We'll be doing it under the rouse that you're going to be meeting my parents and that I want you to look even more perfect than you already do."

"I thought you were going to pretend to be a cop," he whispered back.

His voice had no sexy inflection to it like mine did. He was still staring at my eyes, still seeing that I wasn't the smitten woman I was pretending to be. I was betting, no, I knew, it was making it harder for him to fake being in a relationship when I wasn't completely giving myself over to the girlfriend character. Son of a bitch. But I didn't want to turn the love on now. It'd throw him off even more if I flipped that switch as he watched. I was stuck between a rock and Steve, aka a hard place, and not in the good way.

"I'm going to try the girlfriend rouse first. Try to finagle some information out of him. If that doesn't work, I'll go with the badge," I explained.

He nodded a couple of times before lifting his head just enough to see where we were going. He was doing well on that front, at least. He wasn't looking up so the cameras could catch his face, and now his eyes were scanning the crowd like mine had been. He found the escalator, which we were only a few steps away from. Once we reached it, helped me step on without busting my ass. Heels plus close quarters plus getting on to moving stairs could spell disaster. Thankfully, it didn't, but I still felt like I was going to go tumbling backwards. I held on to him tighter, turning both of our bodies until our fronts were almost pressed together. There. Now I didn't feel like I'd go tumbling backwards, and I could see who was getting on the escalator behind us. At least, that's what I told myself. I slipped my right hand under the plaid shirt to find the hard curve of his waist. Gods, it felt good to touch him there.

Now I turned on the attraction. I used the feel of his body under my hand to bring up a fraction of the attraction I felt for him. Well, I tried to bring up a fraction of it. In reality, I got the whole kit and caboodle, and it slammed in to me hard enough that I staggered, as if passion were a physical force that could shove me in to his arms. Steve's right hand was suddenly there, wrapped around the back of my waist over my jacket and pressing me in to him so I didn't fall. I was drowning again, and I hadn't even looked in to his eyes yet. I was drowning in the feel of his body against mine, and the escalator had barely moved two steps up. This was all happening way too fast. I tried to bring myself back to the surface enough to gasp for air, to suck in deep breaths of logic and professionalism. I needed to balance my emotions with my logic so I could focus on the mission. Focus on the mission. I made it my mantra as I looked up at Steve, my eyes swimming with very real attraction toward him.

This time, his breath did catch in his chest. His eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he knew, somewhere deep within himself, that I suddenly wasn't acting. That look, that raw emotion, said everything he needed to know about how I felt about him. How I wanted him, how he drew me in and under with a single touch, and how much I fought it. He'd almost kissed me before with a similar look riding me. Now, I think he was too stunned to even move, let alone lean forward to press those full lips against mine.

His voice, when it came, was slightly breathy, as if he'd been holding his breath for too long and was trying to push out tiny bits of air without seeming panicked. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I replied, trying to maintain that smoky soprano tone. "Yeah, I just felt like I was going to fall. Heels and escalators don't mix well."

He smiled at that, a soft smile that warmed his eyes and showed me that I wasn't the only one caught in the throes of passion. I knew, I just knew, that we suddenly looked every bit like the smitten couple we were trying to portray. All we'd done, all I'd done, was let it consume me, and suddenly neither of us had to act anymore. I didn't like that. I didn't like that all it took was me giving in to my emotions for a near-stranger to make it look like I was head over heels in love. I didn't like that my walls coming down meant that Steve's walls came down as well. I didn't like seeing what was behind his walls, not when it came to me. It terrified me, actually. That thought alone, that feeling of terror at the hands of unhindered attraction, was enough to help me reign back my emotions. Well, except for one. Paranoia stayed at the forefront, giving me exactly what I needed to control my attraction to Steve, to keep me as professional as I could get on this mission. If I was worried about getting killed, I wouldn't have the opportunity to get lost in my desire.

By the time we reached the top of the escalator, I had most of my attraction under control and Steve was back to being thoroughly perplexed by my actions. That was good. As long as he didn't look at me like I was the light at the end of a dark tunnel, everything would be cool. I'd locked down most of my attraction, but I kept one small piece alive, the piece that I'd been reaching for in the beginning. I still needed to look like I was in love with him, so I couldn't shut off the emotion completely. Not without screwing myself over. I could act, sure, but I wasn't Oscar material when it came to feigning love, or even infatuation. I just couldn't pull it off, so I needed that tiny bit of whatever I felt for him to help get us through this. Steve helped me step off of the escalator and we went back to holding hands with my right hand clutching his bicep. We were close to getting answers about Barnes. I wasn't going to let my attraction to him fuck that up for either of us. We needed to find his friend, and we needed to find him yesterday.

Steve and I walked hand in hand in to JC Penney's, with me still bouncing on my heels like I was excited to be in friggin' JC Penney's. The long braid swung behind me, brushing the bottom of my leather jacket. With one quick move, I grabbed the base of the braid and flipped the bundle of hair over my shoulder so it fell across the mound of my right breast. I suddenly felt Steve's gaze heavy upon my head, as if he were burning a hole through the floppy hat. Hey, at least he wasn't staring at my tits. He was too good of a guy for that. I hoped.

"Where is the cash register that Bucky used to buy his clothes?" he asked, his voice staying just above a whisper.

I glanced at him to find his head dipped down so he could look at me and the room that was spread out in front of him. His eyes were currently settled on me, waiting for an answer, and maybe waiting to see that attraction that I'd so clearly displayed not ten minutes ago. He wasn't going to get the latter, but I could definitely give him the former. I lifted my pale right hand away from his bicep to point in the direction of the men's section, which had a big blue sign with large white letters hanging over it.

"Over there," I said.

As I replaced my hand on his arm, I pulled him forward. He fell in step with me as we walked to the men's section to find the clerk that had helped Barnes. It wasn't hard to find him. He was standing at the cash register, looking as bored as humanly possible while he signed a little slip of paper and slid it through the slot in the register drawer. An older gentleman was walking away with a bag stuffed full of newly purchased goodies. Looked like we were just in time to pull him away from his register. Hooray!

His short hair wasn't as dark as I'd thought it was, nor was his shirt or his skin. His hair was actually a dirty blonde rather than a light brown, and his skin was a few shades off from a nice summer tan, almost as if his skin couldn't hold the pigment very well. His shirt was closer to navy than dark blue. His pants and shoes were still black, though, albeit they looked like they'd been worn a little too much and were losing their vibrancy. His name tag, which was still pinned to his left breast pocket, read Andrew in black letters. He had brown eyes, the color of a rich milk chocolate. Settled in the middle of his triangular face was a triangular nose, which the eye followed to a pair of thin but well-shaped lips. His face looked like it still had some baby fat on it, seeing as how the rest of him was so thin, which made me peg him at being around twenty-years-old. Poor kid had to work in retail at twenty. That must've been hell.

I made sure to be the breath of heaven in this clothing laden hellscape, and turned my charm up a notch. My body moved until it was no longer pressed against the line of Steve's so I could move closer to the counter and the young man behind it.

"Hi," I said in that sweet soprano. "Do you think you can help us?"

Andrew perked up a bit, and the boredom melted away from his face in favor of being a good employee. I gave him some major credit for that. He hated his job, that much I could tell, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to give it everything he had. That was a good work ethic, right there.

"I might be able to," he said in a smooth baritone voice. I wasn't expecting him to be a baritone. Maybe a tenor, but not a baritone. The voice did not match the body in the least. "What do you need help with today?"

I pulled Steve up until his hips and the tops of his thighs were almost pressed against the counter. I was short enough that the whole of my hips hit the counter so I could bend over at the waist to get closer to Andrew. My right elbow rested itself on the white counter top, my hand twirling the end of the braid. I made it seem like I was nervous, flirty, and giddy all at the same time. Okay, so maybe I was Oscar material.

"My boyfriend needs some clothes, but it's so hard to buy him anything because he's so big through the shoulders, you know? Anyway, he's going to be meeting my parents and I have something very specific in mind but I just don't know where to find it or if you have it in his size," I explained.

My tone was so girly that it bordered on being California Valley Girl. I felt for all the world like I was suddenly a character in Clueless, and that alone made me feel dirty. I was going to need a hot shower after this to cleanse what was left of my soul. Or whiskey. Whiskey cleansed souls, right? Right.

"What did you have in mind?" Andrew asked as he moved out from behind the register.

He walked in the general direction that Barnes had been in, and Steve and I followed on his heels. I opened my mouth to reply to Andrew's question just as we skimmed our way through a couple of racks that were loaded down with dark blazers when I was cut short by Steve talking.

"Well, her parents live in Florida, so we were thinking something a bit more tropical," he said.

I was almost too shocked to speak. Wow. Him reading up on my file was helping him lie through his teeth. I was a bad influence even through text! Or was that what was really going on? Is that what he would have picked if he had actually been going to visit my parents? Oh, I did _not_ want to think about that! Instead, I gave his shoulder a playful slap and beamed up at him.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, babe!" I exclaimed. Turning back to Andrew, I said, "We want something beachy. I was thinking, like, a white blazer or light sweater over a blue button down, but I don't know what pants to put him in. I feel like…if I put him in white pants, he'll look too Miami Vice, you know? I mean, my parents loved that show, but that would just be too much."

"A pair of khakis should work well with what you have in mind," Andrew said.

He led us to an area with more colorful blazers and picked out a white one. I took it from him with a smile and a thank you, then held it up to the front of Steve like I was trying to see him in it without him going in to a dressing room. It would actually fit him. Man, Andrew was good.

"This is perfect!" I exclaimed, bouncing up and down on my heels. "Thank you so much. You know, our friend said that you'd help us, and he was so right."

That made Andrew look at me like I'd said something interesting. He was suddenly very curious, and tried like hell to hide it. I knew what he was thinking. If someone had recommended him, maybe he could move up in the ranks, get a raise, get a promotion, get something so he didn't have to work the floor in retail hell for minimum wage. If he could find out who had recommended him, it could get him good places, especially if that person reported to his superior how well he was doing his job.

"Who is your friend?" he asked, as if he'd automatically know the person we were talking about.

"Oh, he's about five-nine, dark hair, blue eyes, cleft in his chin, loves baseball caps," I replied.

"He was here about forty minutes ago," Steve chimed in.

Recognition dawned in Andrew's eyes, and suddenly, all of the hope in his chocolate brown eyes was gone. Why? Shit, what had Barnes done? What had Barnes not done? Why was Andrew suddenly so despondent? I didn't get it, nor did I like it.

"I remember him," Andrew said. "I didn't really help him. I just rang him up."

I looked up at Steve as he looked down at me. I had a feeling that we both had the same expression on our faces. That we'd done all of this for nothing and that we were no closer to actually finding Barnes. Dammit to hell! I turned back to Andrew with my own curiosity and puzzlement etched on my features.

"That's weird," I said. "He told us you were really helpful. Did you two talk at all? He has been going through some problems, and he does get a bit chatty sometimes."

Andrew shook his head hard enough that if he'd had longer hair, it would have flopped around his forehead. He led us to another section of the store and grabbed a light blue button down shirt. He automatically handed it to me, but I didn't bother holding it up to Steve this time around. I was too focused on getting answers.

"No, he didn't say anything. He was pretty quiet, really," he stated. "The only time he talked was to answer my questions."

"That is super weird," I said again. "He was so insistent that you were helpful. Maybe he's just having a bad day and you helped him super-fast."

"Maybe," Andrew said with a shrug. He led us to the pants section and pointed out the khakis. "I'll let you find your size. We do have loafers in the shoe section if you want to purchase some."

I thanked him again before he went off to man his register. Steve rifled through the pants for a moment before pulling out a pair that I could only assume would fit him perfectly. As I stared down at the clothes in my arms wondering where the hell to go from here, he lowered himself down as if he were going to lay a kiss on my cheek. His breath was hot on my skin when he spoke.

"We need to get back out to the car and see if anything came up," he said before pulling away.

Well, that answered my question. We needed to get back in the car, check to see if he popped up on any more cameras, maybe go food shopping, and then head back to the house. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. But first, we had to pay for the bundle of clothes in my arms. Yeah, that was something I hadn't entirely thought through. If we were looking for decent, relatively cheap clothes that would fit Steve so he could meet my parents looking like he just stepped out of a preppy magazine, then we were in the right place. Of course, we didn't necessarily have to buy the stuff. We could just put everything back where it had been pulled from, and use the excuse of needing to check my bank account before I made any purchases. Yeah. We'd do that.

I turned to go put the button up shirt back on the rack and found someone ominous in my line of sight. They were dressed in regular civilian clothes, just like Steve and I were. So how did I know they were ominous? It was how they carried themselves. It was a man, about five foot eleven in height with dark auburn hair and natural-looking summer tan. He wore a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket over a pair of jeans that hugged the curve of his thighs. He stepped behind a rack of hats before I was able to get a good look at the bottom of the jeans, but I was betting they were loose enough for him to hide a small caliber weapon at his ankle. I was also betting that he had a shoulder holster and at least a couple of knives hidden under his jacket. Even under the jacket and black shirt, you could tell he worked out. He had some bulk to him that said he lifted weights regularly, and the set of his shoulders told me that he knew how to use every last ounce of muscle that he'd packed on to his frame. His body was trying to be loose, trying to let go of whatever tension sang through him, but it simply couldn't manage. He was eager, and I didn't want to find out what he was eager for. His eyes flicked to Andrew, and suddenly I knew.

They weren't here for us. We'd done a damn fine job of hiding. Andrew, a twenty-something kid who had just been doing his job, was now on Hydra's radar for helping out Barnes. I was betting that Hydra would be far less kind, and far less understanding, than Steve and I had been. Shit. We had to get out of here, but we needed to warn Andrew to be careful first. Looked like we were going to be buying stuff after all.

I turned around again, trying to make myself look as if I were simply looking at the racks around me, before I finally stopped to face Steve. Really, I'd been scanning the rest of the store for more bad guys. Here's hoping I was discreet enough. Steve was still standing close to me, still keeping his head down. He'd begun to follow me when I'd turned, and now he stared down at me with a questioning look in those blue depths. Oh, I didn't want to do this. I prayed to the universe, to every deity that had ever even had a hint of being worshiped, that my new plan didn't go south. Not like that had helped last time.

I stepped in to Steve, moving my left arm full of clothes to hug his side. I pressed the fronts of our bodies together until we were touching from thigh to stomach, making damn sure that I didn't press the swell of my breasts against his lower chest. My eyes went down so I could find the edge of his plaid shirt and canvas jacket. Pale fingers slipped under those layers of fabric to find the muscled expanse of his chest. Passion zinged through me, as if the very touch were more sexual than I'd meant it to be. I was going for sensual, and I was getting sexual. Fucking hell. Oh well. I couldn't stop now. My eyes followed my hand as it slid up his left pec to play at the collar of his t-shirt. I made sure to keep the hat over my face, to hide myself from the cameras, as I lifted my eyes to stare in to Steve's. I lifted myself on my toes as I met his eyes and moved my hand to grasp the back of his neck.

His eyes were so confused, so hesitant, yet so full of need. The passion had cut us both when I'd touched him, caressed his chest like an appreciative lover would. Once again, I wasn't the only one drowning, and this time around, I was the only one fighting either. He knew, somewhere in him he knew that something was wrong if I was suddenly pulling him in to me like this. He just didn't know what. It helped him clear his head of that passion, of that need to touch me. And he did touch me, but he did it out of necessity. I hoped. His hand went to the curve of my back, pressing me harder against him so I didn't lose my balance as I lifted myself as high as my toes would allow. I drew him down to me, brought his face, those perfectly plump lips, closer to mine. I turned my head, using the wide, floppy hat to hide both of our faces from the surveillance camera. I pulled him in until our lips almost brushed. So close. We were so close that a gust of wind could have pushed us in to each other. That was all it took for us to close the gap. A thought, a sway too far forward, too heavy of a sigh, and our lips would meet.

Steve spoke just above my mouth, so close that I couldn't tell if the heat that washed over my lips was from his body or from his breath. He stared down at me, his eyes fighting to stay open, to not close or become heavily hooded with the promise of lascivious acts. He held on to that confusion, clung to it like it was a lifeline.

"I thought we weren't going to kiss," he whispered against my lips.

"We're not," I replied, trying to keep my voice sounding as professional as possible. "There are six Hydra agents in the store, and they're going to go after Andrew."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Steve tensed under my hands. A tiny part of my brain, somewhere in the very back of my mind, started screaming that his tension would feel so much better if we were both naked and sweaty, and not out in public. I punched that part of my brain right in its grey matter, scolding it like it was a kid who'd tried to set the family cat on fire. His sudden tension had nothing to do with sex, just like my hands on his body had nothing to do with sex. The tension was all business, all morality, all Steve being worried for someone in danger.

I lowered myself down to stand flat on the ground, my hand still at the back of his neck. My face beamed up at him, the oh-so happy girlfriend shining her beacon of emotional pleasure up at her loving boyfriend. My eyes were hard and serious, showing him that I knew just how fucked Andrew would be if we didn't try to help him. Even with my Oscar performance staring him in the face, Steve still sucked at lying. His face showed everything. His eyes were so full of concern and determination that it almost hurt to see it. His full lips were set in a grim line, with the corners of them turned down ever so slightly. If the Hydra agents saw him staring down at me with that clear displeasure on his face while I beamed up at him, we'd be in just as much trouble as Andrew.

The agents would figure it out pretty damn quickly that we weren't what we claimed to be. They'd find out who we really were and try to take us both in. If Thompson had been telling the truth, then that meant that neither of us would be walking out of a Hydra base. They'd kill me as soon as they could. I wasn't necessary to keep alive past a certain point, and I didn't know how well I'd be able to control my power if they tried to torture information out of me. They'd kill me the second they found out what I was, or worse, try to brainwash me like they had Barnes. They'd use me as a weapon against innocent people. They might even use me against Steve.

And gods knew what they'd do if they had Captain America as their prisoner. They'd torture him, take his blood to try to recreate the super soldier serum, probably use him as a personal punching bag, and maybe if they got out enough of their anger at the fact that he'd started the ball rolling on bringing Hydra down in both the twentieth _and_ the twenty-first century, they'd brainwash him. If they didn't get out enough of their anger, they'd kill him, and they'd kill him agonizingly slowly. I refused to let any of that happen. I refused to let one stranger, one poor, innocent kid, drag us both down. Self-preservation was key on this, for me and for Steve. I was his bodyguard, and I was damn well going to guard his body even if it meant leaving a twenty-year-old civvie to fend for himself against highly trained Uber-Nazi agents.

I lifted my hands to cup his cheeks, trying to hide his emotions from the six men that were scattered around the store. The clothes on my left arm slid down to bunch in the bend of my elbow as I caressed a thumb across his cheekbone. My own face fell in to one of compassion, letting him know that I could read him while outwardly making it seem like I was just comforting my brooding lover. If Andrew saw it, he'd think Steve was just upset about having to meet my parents. If anyone else saw it…I didn't know what they'd think. What was more, I didn't want to know.

"We have to get him out of here," Steve whispered, his voice as hard as I'd ever heard it. It wasn't a tone that held the promise of compromise. Dammit. So much for being compassionate.

"We can't," I replied, staring up in to determined blue depths. My tone had stayed that soft, lilting soprano, only now it had its own iron resolve and a razor's edge to it. It was the first glint of a blade under a jacket, the first sign that danger was imminent if someone didn't cooperate. It said that my word was final, and that if he didn't like that, then he'd have to learn to be a masochist. "We're going to buy the clothes and warn him that he's in danger, but we can't pull him out of the store. If we drag him out of here, our cover is blown, we'll be captured, Andrew will be captured, and your mission to find Barnes will be over. Plus, we'll have the cops on our tails for kidnapping someone in broad daylight. I'm sorry, Steve, but we have to leave him here."

The next thing Steve did startled the hell out of me, so much so that the thread of anger that lent me that razor's edge completely disintegrated. In one quick motion, Steve put his hands on top of mine, as if he were helping me cradle the carved perfection of his face. His eyes fluttered closed as I watched, and something very close to pain flashed over his features before he finally turned his face toward the floor. It was almost as if he was hiding his reaction from me. No. Not almost. He was hiding his reaction from me. I wanted to know why. What was more, I wanted to know what his reaction was. I lowered myself a little, bending at the knees so I could slip myself between his gaze and the floor. I tilted my neck so I could see his face without throwing my head backward at a painful angle.

His eyes were still closed, and only the suddenly hard grip of his hands on mine told me that he knew I'd moved, and that he hadn't exactly wanted me to. Whatever was on his face, he didn't want me to see it. But he didn't turn away. He couldn't. There was nowhere for him to turn to this time, not without letting other people see his face. That was perfect. I could see it, and I could suddenly understand why he'd turned away from me. He was calm. He was surprisingly calm for being told "No, we can't save him the way you save people." All of that worry, that hard determination, that utter disregard for any kind of compromise when it came to brazenly saving a human life, was gone. It had vanished under the touch of my hands, under the grip of his hands on mine. Goddammit, I really wasn't the only one who felt something. He really was the air to my fire. _Shit._

I lifted his face up so I didn't have to keep my knees and neck bent at awkward angles, and spoke low, soothing words to him. There was no hint of that razor now. It was pure, sweet candy that was meant to comfort the soul. I knew that the pain that had flashed across his face was him feeling the loss of not being able to help someone, of him giving in to the calmness that my touch had provided. I gave him more of that calmness, of the campfire that flickered during the cold winter night. I was the warmth, the blanket that he could wrap himself in, so he could tell himself that everything would be okay. My face hadn't moved out of its compassionate state, but now there was real emotion behind the mask. I wanted him to see it. Whenever he finally ended up looking at me, I wanted him to know that I felt remorse for him. I felt remorse for forcing him to leave Andrew behind, and I felt remorse for whatever weird, unexplainable Zeus-connection we had going on that was changing his emotions toward the entire situation.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry we can't do it your way. I truly am." He opened his eyes as I sucked in a deep breath to continue. They were calm, with a hint of sadness around the edges, as if he were still having trouble with not being able to help Andrew outright. "But we have to get out of here. We have to warn him and we have to get out of here. Now. Okay?"

"Okay," he replied.

I lifted myself back on to my toes, bringing his face down to mine one more time. I don't know what compelled me to do what I did next. The Hydra agents hadn't moved around much, so Steve and I were still able to pretend to kiss. But suddenly, it didn't matter how close or how far away they were, or that I was only pretending to be Steve's girlfriend. All that mattered was bringing him back to himself so he could help me get him out of there, so he could help me warn Andrew. All that mattered was making him feel better, bringing him back to that reasonable Captain, and beyond this strange connection, I knew only one way to do that. I brought him in close, and laid a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, my lips tenderly pressing against the gentle purse of pink pillows and the warm skin next to his lips.

To anyone looking at us, it would have looked like I'd completely pressed my lips to his, the loving girlfriend comforting her suddenly upset boyfriend. It worked for our cover, and it worked to shock him back in to himself. He stared down at me like he'd just remembered who I was and what we were doing, and how deep in shit we were. But behind all of that was a hint of what I'd seen on the escalator. A hint of attraction, of passion. It was exactly what I needed from him, even if it did make me feel nervous to see it. I had my fake boyfriend back. I had Captain America back. And we had a store clerk to save.

Steve settled the khakis in to my arms and we made our way up to the cash register that Andrew had been diligently managing. He didn't look bored like he had when Steve and I had walked up. Now he was on retail high alert, keeping his eyes on the customers, waiting to see if they needed help or tried to steal anything. Andrew saw us coming and immediately started pressing buttons on the register, probably so he could start ringing things up as soon as I set them on the counter. The khakis went on first, and he started the general, albeit incredibly short, retail questionnaire.

"Did you find everything okay?" he asked as he slid the khaki's toward him.

I made it my job to carefully lay out the button down shirt, taking my time to get it to lay just right on the countertop.

"Yes, we did," I replied, my voice back to being Valley Girl chipper. I glanced at the "customers" that were milling about the store, making sure that the young man saw me moving my head around to look at everyone. "It suddenly got busy in here. Do you usually have more people to help out?"

Andrew looked up at me as he grabbed the shirt and pulled it toward the scanner. I had one more piece of clothing and his bagging process to warn him. Shit. I didn't have time to be coy. Once again, I laid out the blazer, making a big deal out of the placement of the arms and the tag and how the lapels touched from chest to waist.

"Yeah, I do. I can always call them if I need help, though," he said.

"Not to sound rude, but I think you might need help," I said. "I mean, there are so many people in here that need help, and you can't, like, split yourself in to six people. That would be super cool, but, yeah. You should definitely call somebody to come help you."

I added a little nod, so small it was almost unnoticeable, at the last sentence as a way to get him to subconsciously agree with me. The trick didn't always work, but this time, thankfully, it did. My argument was reasonable enough that even the most egotistical professional would have agreed. Probably. Either way, Andrew agreed and picked up a phone that was next to his cash register. He punched in a few buttons as he dragged the blazer to the scanner and requested at least one more person to come to his section to give him a helping hand.

He took the blazer off of its hanger and haphazardly folded the clothing to set it on the similarly disheveled pile of our purchases. Time was almost up. I reached in to my jacket to get out one of the credit cards as he pressed a button on the register and started bagging the clothes. As I swiped my card, I dropped my voice low, making sure that the only people who could hear me were Andrew and Steve.

"Get security and a large group of people around you when you leave here, Andrew," I stated. "These guys in here right now are very dangerous men, and they're looking to ask you questions about our friend. They won't take 'I don't know' for an answer, either."

I looked up at him to find him thoroughly spooked. His face had turned a strange shade of ash, as if the last remnants of his tan were fighting to hold on to his naturally pale skin as it flushed with fear. His eyes, which were a bit too wide for comfort, clearly said that he was trying to decide whether or not to believe a stranger that was randomly telling him he was in danger. His skin told me that he'd fully made up his mind on that, and his eyes just hadn't received the memo yet . It would have made me happy that he'd believed me if his reaction hadn't been so terrible. Looking like a rabbit cornered by a snake would only get him killed faster.

"Andrew," I said, leaning down to sign for my purchase, "you need to calm down. They don't know that you're on to them. You're going to have to do your job like normal. Take a deep breath and calm down for me."

When I looked up again, Andrew was still pale, but he didn't look grey anymore. Point for him. He was looking between me and Steve as he held out our receipt and our bag of goodies.

"How do you know this?" he asked, licking his lips. I was betting they were suddenly dry, and I was betting his tongue felt like sandpaper. Fear will suck the moisture out of your mouth like it was a cotton ball.

"Because we're the good guys," Steve replied, his voice as low as my own.

I took the receipt from Andrew while Steve took the bag. With a flick of my wrist and a sharp rustle of the receipt paper, I caught the young employee's attention. His eyes followed my hand as I slipped it inside my jacket. I put the receipt and my card inside one of the jacket pockets, sliding out the badge at the same time. My thumb flipped open the bi-fold wallet that the badge was nestled in, showing Andrew just how good we were. His eyes, which were still showing too much white, widened a little bit more before the struggle to calm himself finally started completely taking over his body.

"Can't you put me in protective custody or something?" he asked as he signed out of his register.

"No," I replied, putting the badge back in its pocket. "That would look too suspicious and they would find a way to get to you. This way, you just look naturally paranoid."

With that, I gave him a big smile, thanked him in my lilting soprano tone, and walked away with Steve at my side. We had to leave him standing there as he fought his own body for control so he didn't look as terrified as he felt. I actually looked back at him as Steve and I headed for the door to find that he was back on the phone, probably requesting for security to escort him outside. Or at least requesting an early break so he could go in to whatever backroom they had so he could make his plea for help private. I was hoping he was doing the last one. The first one was a dumb move when the bad guys were within earshot.

Just as I turned around, I felt Steve grab my left hand. If I hadn't already been working on facing forward, I would have asked him what was going on. Alas, with one quick glance ahead of me, I knew. The dark auburn Hydra agent was in the middle of the aisle, and he wasn't moving. That was a bit on the nose, if you asked me, seeing as how there were cameras everywhere and he looked suspicious as hell just standing there, but hey, I wasn't the one outing myself so it was no skin off my back. I immediately pulled Steve to walk behind me so we could easily pass by the agent. The aisles were wide enough to walk three or four abreast, but when one very solid, muscular man took up the middle of the aisle, you had to move your party around the get past him or you ran the risk of bumping in to him. Especially if part of said party was wider through the shoulders than Andre the Giant. Besides, I didn't want Steve or me to get too close to this guy, who I was now officially going to be calling Cherry Wood on account of his hair color.

Cherry Wood stepped in our way just as we were about to move past, getting so close to me that I almost bumped in to him. Instead, I took one large step back and bumped in to Steve instead. I reacted like anyone else would when someone was rudely blocking their path. I gave Cherry Wood angry eyes that made most people take a step or two back themselves. He didn't move. Fucker.

"Excuse me," I said, making sure the Valley Girl sounded thoroughly pissed. "That was rude."

Cherry Wood dismissed me out of hand, acting as if I didn't even exist. That pissed me off. Not the Valley Girl. Me. Not only was he being sexist by completely ignoring me, he was also being a fucking moron. The moron bit worked to my advantage, as did the sexist bit. If people underestimate you because of your gender, or your height, or anything else, it was that much more satisfying when you ripped them a new asshole. However, that didn't mean I was happy about him being a misogynist. And I certainly wasn't happy about how he was staring at Steve. His eyes, which I could now see were so dark brown that they were almost black, were locked on Steve's face, as if he were studying one of his favorite specimens. He didn't even try for neutral. He went straight for eager, and his voice followed

"You're Captain America," Cherry Wood told Steve in a surprising tenor. Boy, I just kept getting surprised by how deep or high peoples' voices were. Apparently Cherry Wood wasn't the only one with the problem of judging the book by its cover.

My hand, which was held close to the minimal space between my and Steve's hips, tightened on Steve's, trying to tell him through touch alone that he'd better learn to lie well, and he'd better learn to do it quick. My eyes were still angry as I stared up at Cherry Wood. He'd see me eventually, even if I had to shove him out of my way.

"I'm not," Steve said, making his tone matter-of-fact. "I get a lot of people who think I am, though."

Woah. His voice didn't even waver! There wasn't so much as a hint of apprehension as he lied through his teeth. Oo, I was proud of him! But, was that him getting better at lying, or was that my touch helping him like it had not ten minutes ago? I didn't want to question it too much. Whatever was making him a better liar was working to our advantage, and I didn't tend to make it a habit of looking the gift horse in the mouth as soon as I'd taken the bow off of it. Later on, when I was alone with the gift horse, I'd become its friggin' dentist, but for now, I left it alone.

"No, man, you're Captain America," Cherry Wood insisted, his voice still too eager. "You look just like him."

I stepped up, getting so uncomfortably close to the agent that he couldn't help but look down at me. I let him see how angry I was, how done I was with this entire situation. I made it seem like I'd been through this a thousand times, and that I was done with people being rude to my man. And I was super done with people being rude to me.

"A lot of people look like a lot of other people," I stated. "There's this rumor floating around that there are at least seven people in the world who look almost exactly like you. My boyfriend won the genetic lottery so he looks like Mr. Perfect Captain America. But he's not. So do us a favor and don't accuse him of lying again. Okay?"

Cherry Wood pointed at Steve, keeping his hand as close to his body as he could get while still pointing over my shoulder and not touching me.

"But he looks exactly l-"

I held up a hand to stop him, my face showing just how ridiculous and stupid I thought this guy was.

"Excuse me," I stated, pinching my thumb and index finger together. "What did I just say? What did he just say? He gets this a lot, but he's not Captain America. Do you watch Doctor Who?"

That one threw him off. He looked down at me, his dark eyes both confused at my question and certain that he had the right guy. He looked at me like he finally saw me. I could see it now that he'd thought I was a piece of ass, an airheaded Valley Girl that was only good in the sack and nowhere else. That particular judgement was fading, and it was fading fast. I was a short shit, a girly-girl that talked like she didn't know what the moon was, but I was the one stepping up to him with anger in her eyes and an argument already in place. He seemed to understand that, despite my appearances and how I spoke, I was smart and strong-willed, and I wouldn't let him forget that. He may have been a moron, but at least he was a bit smarter than he looked or acted.

"No," he replied.

"I didn't think so," I said, making every word drip with condescension. "Well, the Tenth Doctor brought up spatial genetic multiplicity, which means that genetics can cause one person to look almost exactly like someone else throughout time and space. So, to dumb it down for you, super awesome genetics made my sweetie look like a guy that was born in the 1920's. And this particular girl doesn't like how rude you're being to her boyfriend just because he looks like a famous guy. If you want more examples of famous people looking like old-timey people, Google 'historical celebrity lookalikes.' Now if you'll back up and get out of the way, I won't have to file criminal charges or a civil suit against you."

Cherry Wood looked up at Steve, clearly asking him with his eyes if I was always like this. He also seemed to be trying to test my lie, trying to study the man behind me even more to see if he really was what we both claimed him to be: just a really good lookalike.

"Don't look at me," Steve said, his tone clearly saying that he was refusing to help the man deal with me.

Good Steve. With that one sentence, he'd made it seem like he'd been through this same situation a million times before, and he wasn't going to help some arrogant stranger get away from my anger that easily. After all, he hadn't had any help, and he was dating me. Why should he help some accusatory prick who deserved to get a verbal beat down? Cherry seemed to notice that he was in this fight alone. Good.

"What crime would you have me charged with?" Cherry asked, his eyes flicking back to me.

"Harassment," I said. "As for the civil suit, I'd be suing you for emotional damages. You scared me by not letting me pass, and then you insisted that my boyfriend was someone he wasn't, even after we told you the truth. That caused me real emotional distress. I also have really good lawyers, so you won't win. Now, move, or I'm calling the cops, and my lawyers, who will rip away everything you even think you love."

Cherry Wood held his hands up as if to say he meant us no harm, but that was not an act I was buying in to. He took a step back from us, giving us enough room to pass without him being close enough to stop us. Smart move. I had on heels. He had balls. I was not adverse to donkey kicking him in the testicles. Once I was certain that Steve's hand was firmly grasped in mine and that Cherry Wood wasn't going to try to stop us again, I surged forward to get the hell away from the Hydra agents. I gave one last parting shot over my shoulder as we made our way for the store entrance, and made sure that Cherry Wood could hear me.

"Why the hell would Captain America be in Pittsburg anyway? Moron."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

We booked it out of the mall, actually walking down the escalator steps rather than letting the machine carry us down. I kept flicking my eyes over my shoulder, making sure that none of the Hydra agents were following us. To my relief, they weren't. Cherry Wood had bought our little lie. It made me wonder how his superiors and colleagues would feel when they found out that he'd let one of their marks slip between his fingers. I was betting he would be on the receiving end of one hell of a beating. Good. Bad guys deserved to get their asses kicked.

Once we reached the car, Steve slid in to the passenger seat and I took my place behind the wheel. With several rapid movements, I pulled the laptop out from under my seat, handed it to Steve, started the car while putting my seatbelt on, and peeled out of the parking lot like the devil himself was trying to bite my ass. Yes, if the devil was real, I saw him as a sadistic serial killer with an ass-biting fetish. Or as Lucifer from Supernatural, in which case I still didn't want him biting my ass. He was cute and all, but there was still a sadist in that meat suit. Jeez, I get in one run-in with agents of chaos and I suddenly start thinking about adorable Satan and his bedroom habits. I really needed a therapist or five. I broke away from my odd and disturbing thought process to look in the rearview mirror. The parking lot was empty of people and moving cars.

We were safe, for now, so I was hoping we could stop off at a grocery store and buy some food. I really didn't want to deprive my grandparents of their premade dinners, and you couldn't really have baked spaghetti for breakfast. Besides, I was pretty sure my grandfather only had decaf coffee in the house, and I refused to drink that abomination of a beverage. I needed real coffee, lest I go berserk and murder someone, and ingredients for fresh meals. I'd remembered seeing a grocery store about a mile or two away from the mall, and headed in that direction as Steve settled the closed laptop on his thighs. I suddenly felt heat on the side of my face and knew that I had a pair of blue eyes staring at me.

"Spatial genetic multiplicity?" he asked.

I didn't bother to look at him. I could hear how confused he was, despite having explained to Cherry Wood what the concept was in simplistic terms. Maybe he wanted the complex version? Yeah. Either way, he was confused, and hearing it was enough. I didn't need to see it, too. Besides, I needed to keep an eye on the road. We'd just barely gotten away from Hydra agents. I didn't want to ruin our good luck now by getting in a car accident.

"It's a real thing," I said. "Kind of. Spatial genetic multiplicity is a combination of two very real phenomenon; spatial genetics and genetic multiplicity. The writers of Doctor Who just combined the terms to get spatial genetic multiplicity, which means that genetic sequences will repeat throughout time and space to create people who look exactly alike. It's seen a lot in families, where a granddaughter looks exactly like her great-great-great-grandmother, but it's not limited to familial ties. I figured it'd be the best way to explain why you look like Captain America without giving you away."

Steve was silent for a moment or two, as if he were rolling the scientific possibility around in his head. Or maybe he wasn't going for scientific reasoning, but rather common sense reasoning. He was from a time when science was just starting to get on its feet, especially when it came to genetics and the human body.

Finally, he said, "That was really smart. I don't think anyone else would have thought of that."

"Thanks," I replied, taking a turn to head toward the grocery store. "I'm more than just a pretty, angry, dangerous face. I'm also a nerd."

Steve chuckled, and I heard the rustle and rubbing of fabric as he shifted in his seat. "Yes, you are."

Our trip to the grocery store was a massive success. No Hydra agents attacked us, or so much as appeared in the food-laden aisles. We'd bought enough food to last us the week, though I would have bought more if I was certain that we would be staying at the house longer. Alas, I had no idea when this mission would end or when we might have to abandon our current sanctuary. So, we just got enough food for the week and headed back to the house.

Once I'd gone through the process of opening the house, getting the bags inside, and opening up the laptop, Steve and I made quick work of the groceries. He had no idea where most of the items went, so I helped him find the right spots to place everything, stuffing plastic bags inside of other plastic bags as we emptied them out. I was glad we had actual ingredients to work with now. It meant I could get more creative with our food than just pasta dishes and stale cereal.

Once we were finished putting everything away, I resolved to get in to some more comfortable clothes. A heels and skirts girl, I was not. I desperately craved a pair of jeans and a tank top. I also really wanted the makeup off of my face. Sure, I didn't have any base on, but what I had on was enough to make me feel uncomfortable. I looked good as hell, but I didn't feel good. I felt like a painted-up porcelain doll when I was really more like GI Jane, and GI Jane wore dirt for her makeup. Plus, the clips from the extensions were starting to rub against the base of my skull. If I kept them in much longer, I'd end up with blisters on my scalp. That sounded about as appealing as eating a spider, which was to say, not appealing at all.

"I'm gonna go change," I said as I swiped the hat from my head.

The hair that hung loose from the braid spilled around my face, creating a little curtain of thick, black strands for me to peek around. I made my way toward the stairs, the skirt swishing around my knees as I powerwalked for the stairs. Powerwalking in heels isn't as easy as it sounds. I actually had to keep my hands out for balance so I didn't bust my ass trying to reach the bottom step. Steve's voice floating behind me stopped me in my tracks, and made me falter just enough to tip forward like I was going to fall. I reached out to grab the closest thing I could to prevent myself from faceplanting. Somewhere during my little trying-not-to-fall act, I'd completely missed what Steve had said. Shit. What had he said again? Oh! Right!

"Dani, can I ask you a question?" he'd inquired.

I stopped with my hand on the banister, the hat suddenly clutched so tightly in my hand that I could feel the fabric giving way to my grip. Why was I suddenly crushing the hat? Because I'd almost fallen, and his tone said that this wasn't an idle question. He wasn't going to ask what he should watch next, or what we were going to do with the rest of our evening. No, this felt heavier than that. This felt much more personal. His tone, more than his words, had been the reason I'd stopped so suddenly. I didn't like that. Gods, I didn't want to do personal. Was it because I'd said he could be more perfect? No, that couldn't be it. He was too humble for that. I didn't even want to explain that I thought he was perfect already. But then again, hadn't I already basically stated that in the mall? I'd called him Mr. Perfect Captain America, so that had to negate what I'd so idiotically said in the car. Right? Or maybe that wasn't it at all. What question was so important that it made him have that tone? Oh, I didn't want to know.

"Can I be a smartass and say that you already asked a question?" I replied.

His soft chuckle came from behind me. He was closer now. Shit! "No."

Double shit! I didn't want to do this. Gods, please let it be something that wasn't serious. Please, oh please. I took a deep breath and turned around to find him standing only about four feet away. I pried my fingers off of the banister and tried to make my body relax. Yeah, I didn't see that one happening anytime soon. Not until he either dropped whatever subject he wanted to bring up or asked the question. And I was betting that the latter would only add more tension. AUGH, I didn't like this!

"Alright," I said, motioning the hat toward him. "Shoot."

He stared down at me with curious eyes, as if he were trying to see inside of my mind to find out why I was suddenly so nervous. Or maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe he didn't know what "shoot" meant as a slang term. Or maybe he was wondering why I'd crushed the hat in my hand. Ugh, my nerves couldn't take this! Please, gods, just let him ask the question and let it have nothing to do with anything I was trying to run away from.

"You seem to calm down when you touch me. Why?" he asked.

That was it. I was officially an atheist. There are only so many times you can have your prayers go unanswered before you tell the gods to suck your dick. Even if you didn't have a dick. I sure as hell didn't, but I was inwardly screaming at them to blow me. It took me a second or two too long to realize that my lungs were burning and that Steve was staring at me with serious, expectant eyes. He was waiting for my answer. My body, however, didn't want to reply to his question. The air that I'd sucked in felt like it had become a flame that was trying to eat away at my lungs. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. It was distracting me, keeping me from freaking out that he'd actually seen how I reacted to him. Of course, he was a smart, highly observant guy. He was going to see my reaction to him no matter what I did. The air in my lungs was finally starting to hurt to the point that I had to let it out.

With a heavy sigh, I said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Steve gave me a look that clearly told me he didn't believe me. Seriousness swam up to replace the curiosity in his eyes until I was left looking at the Steve that I'd first met. He was back to being all pent up worry and anger and confusion. His body thrummed with tension. I took a moment to wonder if it was my response that made him tense, or if it was waiting for an answer that had done it.

"If I hadn't just watched you in the mall, I'd say you were a terrible liar," he said. "Please, Dani. Just answer the question."

Oh, I didn't want to do this. I didn't know how to do this! How do you tell someone that there's a connection between the two of you when you haven't known each other for more than three days? What do you say to even start explaining that? Oh, yeah, I have this theory that Zeus split our old human forms in half eons ago, and now we're soul mates, which is why I can't touch you without something weird happening. You can't say that kind of shit to someone! Not without them calling the guys in white coats who have the good drugs and hug-me jackets. Padded walls sounded good in theory, but in reality, they just sucked. They weren't as bouncy as everyone thought they were.

I took another deep breath and closed my eyes. My free hand lifted to rub itself across my forehead, as if I were trying to get rid of a forming headache. Shit, I had a forming headache! This is why I didn't do touchy-feely relationships. Even when I knew the person for a long time, they were still complicated as hell and were always able to give me migraines. They always wanted me to be touchy-feely with them, or to at least be more emotionally available. Who had time for emotions when all they did was make your brain hurt? Not me.

Instead of holding the breath in this time, I let it out in a heavy whoosh of air. I kept my eyes closed as I answered.

"I honestly don't know," I replied. "I don't know why touching you calms me down, but it does. And I hate it. Gods, I hate it."

"Why?" was the loaded question that was aimed at me.

Time to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me…me. I was an atheist now. I couldn't trust the gods to help me, not after how much they'd let me down in the past two days. My eyes squeezed themselves shut as I braced myself to tell the truth. This was going to suck more than a hooker during a Friday night half-off blowjob special. And not in the good way.

"Because you don't just calm me down, Steve," I started. "You balance me out. If I need to be practical, you make me practical. If I need to be happy, you make me happy. If I need to be peaceful, you make me peaceful. And you…you bring out this passion in me, this…this lust, almost. I can't concentrate when you touch me. The world just falls away and there's only you, and that's impossible. It's impossible for me to feel like that after only having known you for two days. What's more, it's not professional. I'm not supposed to get feelings for the people I protect. It compromises me. Hell, I try to not even get feelings for my coworkers, which is exactly what you'll be once this mission is over. This is wrong on so many levels, but I can't make it stop, and I hate it."

By the time I got to the end of my little speech, I was almost in hysterics. My mouth was working too fast for my brain to comprehend, the words spewing out so rapidly that it took my own ears a second longer than it should have for me to understand my own ramblings. Large hands were suddenly around my wrists, holding them in place against the front of my skirt. The grip was loose, so if I tried to pull away, I could get free. It was almost like he was just trying to keep my hands from moving too much, or trying to keep me from hitting him. Had I been moving my hands around? Probably. I tended to talk with my hands when my emotion level was too high. I didn't want to open my eyes. I didn't want Steve to see the emotion that had caused my hands to go flying about so much that he'd had to hold on to my wrists to keep them still. I didn't want to look up and see a look in his eyes that said I was psychotic. I knew he'd felt things for me, I knew that my touch had the same effect on him that his had on me, but for some reason I felt like he'd think I was crazy. I only wanted bad guys to think I was crazy. Not Steve.

Steve's grip on my wrists tightened just enough for me to feel his palms pressing in to my flesh, just enough for me to feel how hot his skin was. It was like he generated his own warm wind. It washed over me, playing with the fire in my soul until the flames sucked themselves low to the kiss the embers beneath them. It was so soothing. It was like dipping your hands in to a warm bath after you'd been playing in the snow without gloves on. That heat, that wind, enveloped me, and I could suddenly think clearly. He wasn't going to think I was crazy. Why would he? If he'd been feeling the same things that I had been, and if he were so moral, he wouldn't toss me in to the loony pile. He'd own up to his feelings, or he'd just ignore them, but he wouldn't fault me.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice low and steady, as if he were trying to talk me off of a ledge.

"Better," I replied. "Calmer."

My eyes were still closed. My body seemed to refuse to open them. They weren't screwed shut anymore, but they still weren't popping open to see Steve's face. I was almost certain that he'd be as calm as he sounded. I was definitely certain that he didn't think I was crazy. But still, my eyes stayed closed. They stayed closed until he released one of my wrists, brushed the hair away from my face, and touched my cheek. Then, they flew open so wide that I knew they were showing too much white, and I looked up at the man who cradled my face in the warmth of his hand.

He was calm, just like I'd thought he'd be, but there was something underneath that nearly serene look of his. It was…it was shared emotion. Like in the hotel. What I'd said had struck a chord with him, and it was like he suddenly realized he wasn't alone. A hint of something else was there in his eyes, a great white so far below the surface that you could just barely catch a glimpse of it as it sliced through the water. I knew that emotion. By now, I'd seen it so many times that I knew exactly what I was looking at, no matter how deep it dove in those blue-grey depths. It was attraction, passion, the same kind that I'd told him I felt for him. The same kind I'd seen in the hotel and in the mall and upstairs. It caught my breath in my throat to see it again, to see it so soon.

"I thought I was the only one," he said, his voice going so low that it hovered just above a whisper, bordering on that deep bedroom voice that men get when they're attracted to you. "You calm me down, too. I thought it might have been another one of your powers, but this-" he caressed him thumb over the skin just under my right eye and seemed to rethink his sentence "-it isn't just you."

He said the last like I'd understand it, like I'd get the hint that it wasn't just me that had an effect on someone else. I got it. I got it more than he knew. Or maybe he did know and that's why he wasn't being blunt about all of this. I thought about nodding to let him know that I understood, but his hand on my cheek held me in place, kept me from moving too much. Instead of nodding, I went with words, words that told him that I got it. I understood.

"You're seldom alone in anything, Steve," I said, letting out the breath that had caught in my throat.

My voice was, surprisingly, a bit louder than his was, and was far more steady than I felt, as if my brain hadn't made the connection that I was perilously close to doing something that I'd been fighting against since I'd first realized my attraction. With that thought, my brain caught up. My heart raced, pounding so hard that I could hear my pulse roaring through my ears. My skin tingled where he touched me, as if electricity was pouring out of his skin and in to mine. His eyes changed, and that great white broke the surface to show that it could fly. My breath caught in my throat again, and I suddenly had a hard time thinking past those perfect pink lips, those hooded blue eyes that kept getting closer. Closer and closer until they almost swallowed my vision, until the only thing I could see was the fan of dark lashes against sculpted cheekbones.

Without warning, the shark grabbed me and dragged me under, and I was lost to the passion that pulled me in to the dark depths. My eyes fluttered closed and I lifted myself up on my toes to meet Steve halfway. I met his plump, perfect lips with mine, using my free hand on his chest to steady myself. His lips were so soft, his kiss so delicate, his body so hard that it drew a small sound from my throat. He was a myriad of contradictions rolled in to one body, one softness giving way to something more solid, and vice versa. In that one kiss, that one press of his lips upon mine, I felt whole. More than I had with anyone else, I felt whole.

His hand moved away from my wrist, leaving it to dangle against the front of my skirt. His now empty hand moved between my arm and my hip until it settled in the bend of my back. All it took was a simple flex of his arm to pull me against him, to press the fronts of our bodies together, closer than they had been on the escalator, or even in the store. My body, my breasts, my waist, my hips, my legs, were flush against his, so much so that I lost my balance and practically fell in to him. My hand dropped the hat and went around to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him deeper in to the kiss while it kept me from tumbling out of his arms.

I became more eager, using my lips to open his ever so slightly. I broke away from him, only to return with another kiss that locked his lips with mine. I did it again and again, breaking away from his lips only to come back and reclaim them with my own. He became more eager himself, finding my rhythm until he matched it, and finally tried to overtake me. His hand on my cheek moved to grasp the back of my head, to hold me in place as he fed at my lips, tasting them as completely as he would any drink. The hand at my back lifted me up a little, pressing me even more securely against his body as he pulled me up on to the tips of my toes. My hand balled up in to his shirt to keep from wandering, and my hand on the back of his neck brought him down even further until his lips almost crushed mine.

Whether it was how rough we were getting or if he didn't want to go too far, Steve broke the kiss. He straightened himself up enough that I couldn't get to his lips unless I climbed up his body. I wasn't quite willing to do that just yet, but gods, did I want to kiss him again. He probably knew that, too, which was why he'd kept himself out of my reach. That or he didn't trust himself. I wasn't sure which it was.

I looked up at him, my lips longing to be pressed against his again, and found that his eyes still had that passion in them. But there was something else there. As always, he had more than one emotion swirling around in those drowning orbs, and this one looked an awful lot like happiness. That happiness broke the surface of his eyes and spread across his face until he gave me a warm, almost boyish smile. His hand on the back of my head moved again to cup my cheek, this time pressing the fall of my hair against the milky white skin.

"You're not alone, either," he said.

(Oh mah gawd! It finally happened! So, dear, lovely, readers, what did you think of this chapter? Was it worth the wait? How excited were you? Since I don't have a Youtube account for you to post your reactions to, I encourage you to send me a review! Yell at me, glomp me, love me, get annoyed with me, but let me know how this chapter made you feel! I hope you enjoyed it! More will come soon! Thanks for sticking with me and this story up until this point, by the way. I hope you continue to enjoy it.)


	24. Chapter 24

(Author's warning: This chapter does have a couple of paragraphs on gay people and Christianity in reference to gay people. It also has minor passing references to crimes that may be a trigger for some people. I will still encourage you to read the chapter, but if you feel uncomfortable with either of the aforementioned topics, I suggest that you skip paragraphs 24 through 34. You will have plenty of warning within the chapter on when the first topic will arise, but I do suggest that you read the end of the chapter, as it pertains to the next installment of this series. Thank you for reading!)

Chapter 24

I felt the idiotic smile bloom across my face before I could stop it. Then again, I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to stop it. For the first time in three years, my soul felt lighter, freer somehow, as if I suddenly wasn't carrying the burden of Katie's death and my own murderous tendencies by myself. Sure, Steve had seen what I could do to people and he knew better than most exactly what my little sister's death had entailed, but only now did it feel like I was officially sharing that piece of myself with him. Only now had I given that pain up to another person. And that led me to think that, perhaps, for the first time in my life, I felt complete. I had the air to my fire, and I was complete. One kiss, and I knew that I was home. I'd like to think that I'd have found my own air eventually, because I was stubborn and independent and refused to rely on anyone, but now I didn't have to wait to find my balancing force. The universe had decided to give me a fast fix, to let me become whole without the years of meditation and soul searching. Who had time for that when you were killing people, anyway? I wrapped my arms around the neck of that fix and beamed up at him with real emotion, with real happiness, not that fabricated shit I'd been feeding him in the mall.

This time, he was the one left struggling for air. I felt the breath in his chest hitch, as if it were fabric that had gotten caught on something deep inside of him. Some of that happiness in his eyes slipped and fell in to wonderment. It was not a look I'd ever seen on a man's face. Well, not and have it be good. I'd had men look at me like that when I was doing better than them in combat training, or when they'd finally realized how deadly I really was, but I'd never had a man look at me like that romantically. It was new and wonderful, and it only made me smile more. I grinned up at Steve, and only had a second to register that he was drawing himself back down, curling that massive body over me so he could press his lips against mine again. In fact, my brain registered his movement so late that he was at my mouth before I'd even realized it.

Soft lips touched mine again, locked themselves in place as his hand on my cheek drew me back on to my toes. Once again, I got lost in the feel of him, and now, I'd realized, in the scent of him. He smelled lightly of deodorant and the salty sting of sweat, and of something else. Some underlying scent that was unique and delicious, that drew me in just as much as his arms did. I blew a breath out of my nose, trying to keep myself breathing during a breath-stealing kiss, and realized that it was him. That unique scent was his skin. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if his skin tasted as good as it smelled, if the rest of him tasted as delectable as his lips did.

That was not a thought to be having so soon after sharing your first kiss with someone. At least, it was not a thought I should be having so soon after sharing a first kiss with someone. It took me weeks, months, to commit myself enough to someone to even think about sleeping with them, especially if they were coworkers. I had my fantasies, sure, but outright wondering explicit sexual thoughts about real world situations with someone had never been the norm for me. The thought was enough to make me break the kiss, to push away enough so I could settle myself on the ground and smile up at him again. Was it prudish of me to push him away because I'd had a sexual thought about him? Yeah, kind of. Did I have a good reason? Hell yeah. It was bad to even be kissing him, seeing as he was still my charge. Having sex with him would hit a whole new level of wrong. Besides, I needed to know more about him before I slipped in bed with him. Call me old-fashioned, but I liked to know who I was fucking.

Steve gave me confused eyes as I stepped away, pulling my arms away from the back of his neck until my hands rested on the swell of his pecs. Excuse. I needed an excuse. I could tell him the truth, that I'd just had sexual thoughts that I wasn't ready to deal with. Hmn…nah! He'd understand, of course, but I really didn't want to know what he'd say about the line between kissing and having sex with someone. I figured he say something to the effect of, if I was already kissing him, and I viewed that as wrong, then what was the matter with doing yet another thing that I viewed to be wrong? Or maybe I was projecting old boyfriends on to him. That was probably what I was doing. Excuse! I needed an excuse!

"Sorry," I said, my voice way breathier than I wanted it to be. "But if I don't go change out of these clothes soon, I'll need an entire bottle of whiskey to help me cleanse my soul."

I moved out of the circle of his arms and swooped down to pick up my hat. His arms fell back to his sides, and for a second, his hands didn't seem to know where they wanted to go. They started on his belt, then moved to brush the tops of his pockets before they slid down to smooth the front of his jeans. They finally ended up in the pockets of his jeans as I moved toward the bottom step, my hat hanging loosely from my fingertips. I glanced at him as my foot made contact with the first step, and found him still looking thoroughly confused.

"Why would you need to cleanse your soul?" he asked.

I stopped on the fourth step and looked at him with a small smirk on my face. Ah, yes. I was back to feeling like my snarky self. When I was wrapped in his arms, pressed against his body, I couldn't think enough to be snarky. All I could think of was him against me. It was nice to know that he really did shut my brain off. It gave me more reason to not touch him in situations where I needed my brain. However, it also gave me more reason to touch him when I needed to just stop thinking for a while. I grabbed the hem on the skirt and lifted it just enough to flash a little expanse of thigh while I made my point.

"Because this," I said as I rustled the fabric in his direction, "taints my soul. I'm not girly, and it almost physically hurts to wear this shit. I already need at least one shot to wash the Valley Girl out of my mouth. Speaking of, that's also why you don't go to gay bars in the California Valley."

With that, I made a barfing noise from the top of my throat, pushing my tongue out as if the air could cleanse my taste buds. That all-around puzzlement fled Steve's face long enough for him to smile and shake his head at my weird noise-making skills. Then, in the proverbial blink of an eye, that confusion was back full force, and I had no idea why. Maybe I hadn't clearly explained why I needed to cleanse my soul of girly stuff? Yeah, that had to be it. He opened his mouth to speak, and I stopped trying to analyze him long enough to possibly get an answer to my question.

"Gay bars?" he asked. "Homosexuals have their own bars?"

Not girly stuff. He definitely wasn't confused about girly stuff. Or me in relation to girly stuff. He had no idea that we had gay bars. Shit, he probably had no idea that gay people were now being widely accepted across the country. Well, no duh. He probably didn't get much time to talk to people about even the simplest of today's modern social standards, let alone gay rights and how they'd changed since his time. Shit, in the 1940's gay people were still so taboo that they were being chemically castrated. Today, they were able to get married.

"I keep forgetting that you're not from this time period," I admitted. "Um…okay. So, here's the deal. I am going to go change, and get this crap off of my face and out of my hair, and then we will sit down to have a little lesson about gay people in modern society. Yay! Education. Okay, I'm going to go change before what's left of my soul gets completely tainted."

I turned and bounded my way up the stairs, leaving Steve to wonder what the hell he'd missed when it came to gay people. Meanwhile, I was hoping that I could remove any old-timey prejudices he might have come to the future with. Why was I so caught up in teaching Steve about modern gay rights? Because apparently, I'd taken it upon myself to not only be his Obi-Wan in the ways of the geek and pop culture, but to also be his Ellen Degeneres. Hell, I'd taken it upon myself to teach him everything I could in the short amount of time we had together. Maybe I'd teach him stuff about science next, break the news to him that Pluto wasn't a planet anymore. Maybe I could be his mentor in all things now, and he could teach me all about his time. Yeah. I liked that idea.

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in my black sleeping shorts and a dark green tank top, minus a bra because my breasts were small enough that I didn't always need to wear one of those monstrosities. My face was finally clean of makeup, and my hair was finally free of extensions. It had taken me a while to get some of the makeup off, specifically the lipstick, but I was finally clean. I felt like myself again. Woohoo! Now it was time to go educate Steve on the gay community. Woohoo, I guess. He didn't seem like he'd be the homophobic type, but then again, his file did say he was Irish-Catholic, and that was a 1920's to 1940's Irish-Catholic. These were the people that circumcised their boys because they thought it made it more difficult to masturbate. Oh, and they thought masturbation was a sin rather than the good thing it really was. Oh, shit. Was I going to have to explain the Steve the scientific reasons that masturbation and sex were good things? I really hoped not. He was a big boy. He'd had sex before. He knew how good it was for a body. I'd cover genetic research and astrology with him, but I was going to leave the sex science to the experts.

I made my way down the stairs to find Steve sitting on the love seat with a book open in his large hands. Hmn. Hadn't expected that. I didn't think I'd taken so long getting out of my girly outfit that he'd felt the need to seek out entertainment. Besides, where had he gotten the book from? The only bookshelves in the house were in my grandparents' bedroom, and I was pretty certain he wouldn't go in there without asking first. I knew he'd been upstairs at some point. I'd heard him moving around in his room, and he'd lost the hat and the layers he'd had on over his t-shirt, but I really didn't think he'd go down the hall of someone else's house without permission. A pencil suddenly appeared in his right hand and started making brisk strokes across the page. Oh. It wasn't just any kind of book. It was a sketch book. His sketch book. He sketched?

"I didn't know you drew," I stated as I stepped on to the wood strips of the first floor.

Steve looked up, then glanced back down at his sketchbook. "It's just a hobby," he said, shrugging his massive shoulders. "How did you know I was drawing and not writing something down?"

I made my way to the loveseat, making sure I didn't get close enough to invade his personal space or see his sketches without his permission. A sketchbook could be like a journal or a diary. It could be incredibly personal, a thing for people to put their thoughts and feelings in to. It was just rude to stuff your nose in to someone's journal without being invited to do so. I treated him and his sketchbook with that same respect. My finger made a motion to the pencil that was now being pressed in to the edges of the pages of the book.

"Your strokes. They were reminiscent of someone drawing. Writing has a very different look to it, even if you're writing really big letters," I explained.

He closed the sketchbook with a smile on his face, then leaned forward to set it and the pencil on the coffee table. As he did, I walked around the back of the loveseat, rounding it at the far corner close to the TV. He leaned back and spoke again just as I sat down on the bright blue cushions.

"You're very observant," he stated.

"Thank you," I replied. I pulled my legs under me so I was curled in to a ball on one end of the loveseat. I didn't want to touch him while I talked about this. I'd already established that I couldn't think when he touched me, and I needed to be able to think if I was going to give him a proper education on the current state of being gay in America. "Now, let's get down to business. What do you know about gay people?"

He gave me a look that said I was surprising him by jumping right in to it, but he replied nonetheless. "I know that they are men that lie with men and women that lie with women, and I know what the Bible says about it."

"Okay," I said with a nod. "Let's start with the Bible part and work out from there. A lot of people think they know what the Bible says, or how it's supposed to be interpreted. But with how many different Christian branches there are surrounding one book, we know that interpretations can be different based on a branch to branch basis, or even a person to person basis. Now, the Bible had six acknowledgements of homosexuality in it, three in the Old Testament and three in the New Testament. The ones in the Old Testament are that of Sodom and Gomorrah, and Leviticus. Everyone, even some people who aren't Christians, know about Sodom and Gomorrah. The cities were leveled by God after two disguised angels visited Sodom and were accosted by the men of the city, who wanted to gang rape them. When Lot offered one of his daughters to the men as a replacement for the male angels, and the men of the city refused, and the city was subsequently destroyed, people saw that as God punishing the two cities for their homosexual behavior. In reality, as it's stated in Ezekiel, God didn't punish the cities for having homosexual behaviors, but rather because the people of Sodom and Gomorrah acted with violence toward strangers and didn't help people in need. Now, as for Leviticus, that was a book of laws that banned everything from hair cutting, to tattoos, to wearing mixed fabrics, to eating certain foods, to being near a woman while she was menstruating. Once Jesus came along, those laws were considered null and void, and were even called obsolete and outdated in the book of Hebrews. In fact, the only thing in the Bible that talks about homosexuality that doesn't have anything to directly negate it in other passages is what Paul said in the New Testament about the excessively lustful homosexual actions of men and women, and what was said in first Corinthians and first Timothy. But those men and women that Paul spoke about were acting out of wedlock, or were engaging in prostitution, and the men were often having sex with their underage servants even though they were married to women. It was more an admonishment toward excessive behaviors rather than homosexuality. Besides, even though Paul stated that same-sex relations were unnatural, he also said that long hair on men was unnatural, which has led a lot of people to think of that passage as a reference to the culture of the time. And as for the other two passages, which refer to people who won't inherit the kingdom of God, there were two Greek words that were mistranslated by modern translators, who had no idea that the idea of sexual orientation wasn't a concept that existed way back when. That renders their translations as incorrect, which means that gay people are still on the track to Heaven. Also, it should be noted that none of the New Testament scriptures were said by Jesus, who was the authority on all things Godly. So, in that same vein, gay people are more likely to enter Heaven than, say, a fig tree."

Steve looked at me then, his brows furrowed in confusion. "A fig tree?" he asked

"A fig tree," I reiterated. "It was a small passage that showed up in the books of Mark and Matthew. Basically, Jesus and his disciples were leaving a city, and Jesus was hungry. He spotted a fig tree and thought he might get something to eat from that, but when he went to look for fruit, all he found was leaves. Turns out it wasn't fig season. But he got so mad that he cursed the fig tree, saying it would never bear fruit again, and it withered and died within a day. Some Christians think of this as a metaphor for God's relationship with the Jews. The Jews had an outwardly godly demeanor, which were the leaves in the story, but didn't give God any glory, which was symbolized by the lack of figs. Other Christians think it was Jesus establishing his authority over nature. Either way, Jesus himself admonished a fig tree more than he admonished gay people. And I mean, seriously, we're talking about a guy who turned water in to wine. Gay people would love that. If gay people found out that Jesus was having a party, they would cater and decorate that party for free, and then they'd all party with Jesus. And the caterers would say, 'Hey, Jesus, we brought you some food because we knew that you'd get hungry. Don't worry, though. We didn't bring any figs.' And Jesus would be just…so happy, and he'd be like, 'Oh! I love you guys!' Because that's what Jesus does. He loves people. He loves everyone except for fig trees."

Aside from the one question and chuckling at my Jesus party scenario, Steve sat in silence, listening intently to every last word I spouted about the book he was raised to believe in. I stopped once I talked about Jesus not loving fig trees, giving Steve time to digest everything I'd told him. It was a lot to take in. I'd unloaded a pretty good sized lecture on him, and I didn't even have a slideshow to help him if he needed visual representations. After a long moment of silence, he simply nodded, as if he were accepting my lecture as truth. Mmm, I wasn't sure I liked that. I kind of wanted him to ask more questions rather than just take my word for it. Then again, he'd probably read the Bible backwards and forwards at a later date, so he didn't have to ask questions. He'd get proof soon enough that what I was saying was true. And yet, I needed to know if we were on the same page. Leave it to me to not leave things alone.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked.

"Not at the moment," he replied. "I understand everything you said about the Bible."

I nodded. He understood, and that was good enough for me. Even if he didn't agree with it, if he understood it, then we were one step closer to acceptance. Granted, I'd had nothing to tell me if he accepted gay people before I started my mini-lecture, but hey, we'd get to that later.

"Alright. Now on to the flavors of gay. There are a lot of them," I started. "The most well-known and widely accepted are gay males and lesbian females. Like you said before, the males lie with men, and the women lie with women. Other parts of the LGBTQ-plus community are less acknowledged or are even completely dismissed. LGBTQ is an acronym, by the way. It means Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer or Questioning. I add the plus on because it helps represent everyone else who doesn't have a letter in the initial acronym, and the longer acronym is too difficult to remember because there are so many different sexualities and gender identities. Now, on to the B. Bisexuals. A good portion of bisexual people define bisexuality as being attracted to the same sex as well as all of the other genders. Some bisexuals still define bisexuality as being attracted to the binary sexes, which is male and female, but don't include non-binary people in their definition. Other bisexuals may have a similar but slightly different definition that they use for their own personal bisexuality. Don't worry, we'll get to non-binary in a moment. Now, on to transgender. Transgender people are people who are born as one sex but identify as the other. For example, a person who is born biologically male but identifies as female is called MTF and uses female pronouns, and may go through hormone therapy and sex reassignment surgery to have their body match their mind."

Steve continued to sit in silence as I went through every single sexuality and gender identity I knew. I told him about pansexuality, asexuality, demisexuality, genderfluidity, androgyny, intersex, and so much more, until I was almost certain his head would explode from the sheer volume of information. He took everything in stride, though, asking questions when he didn't understand something, and becoming horrified when I told him about the sexual assault, battery, and murder rates for the various letters. I actually saw him starting to get angry when I told him that transgender people, especially transgender women of color, were more likely to be murdered than anyone else in the population, despite the relatively small number of them that existed. He also got upset when I told him that bisexual females were more likely to be sexually assaulted than their straight and lesbian counterparts.

Once again, I was shown that he had more morals than most people I'd ever met. He'd been raised in a time when homosexuality was deemed so horrific that a war hero had been castrated and cast out of society simply for being gay, even though he'd cracked Nazi coding. Steve had been raised as a Catholic in a time when almost everything was considered sinful or immoral, and when even divorce was looked down upon. If anyone should have been prejudiced, it should have been the man out of time, but he wasn't. He was curious, he was angry at the raw treatment that the community had been getting, and he was accepting. It made me like him that much more. It did throw me off, though, when he asked a very unexpected question.

"How do gay people…you know?"

"I don't know," I replied, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"How do they…have sex?" he asked.

I almost gave him the look that question deserved, but then I remembered that he was still brand spankin' new to knowing literally anything about gay people. Of course he would ask how they had sex. Even people today asked that question, though they tended to do so disrespectfully and without pausing like they were nervous. Wait. Why had he paused like he was nervous?

"They have sex like everyone else. They just work with what they have and go with the flow," I replied with a shrug.

I tried to not stare at him with the question in my eyes on why he, a twenty-seven year old man who had surely had sex before, was being prudish about talking about sex. I'd been prudish on thinking about it, yeah, but that was because I'd wanted to throw him on the couch and jump his bones, not because I was talking about boning. A little bit of pink flushed across Steve's cheeks as he shifted in his seat. Why was he acting this way? What was I missing?

"How does everyone else have sex?" he asked.

Then it hit me. Like a train to the face, it hit me. I felt my eyes widen on their own accord, and I stared at him. Horror, surprise, bewilderment, and disbelief were all clear on my face, and I simply couldn't help it. I also couldn't stop the words that flew out of my mouth.

"You're a virgin?"


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

That one simple sentence was filled with all of the disbelief and bewilderment I could muster, until it came out sounding like I was amazed that he, of all people, hadn't had sex yet. Who was I kidding? I _was_ amazed. He was tall and handsome and ripped. That alone would have half of female population clamoring over themselves to get in to his pants. Add the fact that he was incredibly intelligent, sweet, funny, witty as hell, mostly level-headed, more moral than God himself, and someone who thought outside of the box, and you had a guy that even straight dudes would want to have sex with. Okay, maybe not that last part, but still, plenty of people would want him. Even if you took away the muscles and made him the short, scrawny kid that he'd been when he first joined the Army, you still had an incredible man on your hands. The kind of man that so many people claimed they wanted. But there he was, a virgin, and for some reason, that seemed like a travesty.

Tension shot through Steve's body, building up enough that I thought he might shift around again. It made him uncomfortable to talk about this. Crap. Okay, how did I make this go over smoothly without making him feel like he was lesser for being a virgin? We had enough of that going on with modern kids, who wanted to get rid of their virginity as quickly as humanly possible just so they wouldn't be made fun of by their peers. I didn't want to unload that same type on thinking, or the judgement those teens so feared, on to Steve.

"Yeah," was all he had to say.

He didn't meet me eyes when he said it. Instead, he focused very intently on the couch cushions just beyond my knees. Apparently someone else had gotten to him first when it came to being a Judgey Jason about sex. If I could turn back time like a Cher song and punch that person in the face, I would have. Alas, I couldn't, so I was stuck sitting on a couch with a very uncomfortable virgin who'd probably had it drilled in to his brain that virginity was something to be ashamed of. I had to help him. I didn't know exactly how to do that, but I had to try to rid him of this nervousness he felt about the subject. Okay, Dani. Talk to him. Find out why he waited. After all, it must have been his choice to stay a virgin, right? Yeah. Yeah, I could ask his perspective on it and maybe that would help him feel better. Okay. I could do this.

"Sorry. That just…startled me. You're just so perfect that it's mind-boggling to think that no one would have offered that option to you, or that you wouldn't have taken them up on that option," I said. "Um…do you mind if I ask why you waited?"

I asked the last with trepidation, trying to test the waters of how much he wanted to tell me without trying to force him in to the conversation. I shifted on the couch as well, moving my left leg out from under me so it stretched across the cushions to almost touch his right knee. He was sitting like normal people usually do, so his body faced forward with both feet planted firmly on the floor. That gave me plenty of room to stretch out, to use my body in ways that some people might not think of. The leg I'd extended was meant to provide a symbol of comfort. I wasn't quite sure how he'd feel about me putting a hand on his shoulder to soothe him, especially when it came to this conversation, but I wanted to be near him. I wanted to show him that, even with this admission, I wanted to be close to him. I didn't want to force it on him by wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him in to me, but I wanted to be close to him, to offer him some semblance of comfort without throwing that comfort in his face like it was some sort of weird flour prank. I let my body do the talking for me, because sometimes simple body language can be so much louder and more meaningful than mere words.

Almost as soon as I finished extending my bare leg, his large hand reached out to press against my calf. Apparently he'd taken the motion for what it was and had decided that he needed physical comfort rather than the implied stuff I was giving him. Then again, the flash of emotion that crossed his face told me he was somewhat confused as to why he'd so quickly settled his hand on my bare skin. Maybe it was a subconscious thing? Yeah. With how he was reacting, I was betting his action was subconscious rather than intended. He looked up at me, a hint of confusion still swimming in those eyes as he stroked his thumb over the smooth skin of my leg. It sent a wave of heat up my body, so forceful and delectable that I had to fight to not shiver. He didn't need me to become sexually infatuated with him right now. He a listening ear, a calm presence to hear him out, and I was going to do that for him, dammit. The last hint of confusion fled as he suddenly lost himself to memories, as he thought back to his life before being Captain America, when he was just Steven Grant Rogers, a skinny kid from Brooklyn with a myriad of health problems that was born to Irish immigrant parents.

"At first, it wasn't about waiting," he stated. "I was shorter than most of the women I met, and they wanted someone bigger and stronger. I didn't really get a chance when I was younger. Then the war happened and I didn't really think about girls that much. I just wanted to help my country fight a bunch of bullies. I wanted to help people. Eventually, I just told myself to wait for the right girl. I'd thought I'd found her before…"

He paused and looked down again, almost as if he didn't want to finish that sentence. I knew what he didn't want to say. He'd thought he'd found the right girl before he'd intentionally crash landed a Hydra plane in to a frozen wasteland. I bumped his knee with my leg, trying to get his attention while also giving him a little more comfort. It seemed to work, because he looked up at me just as I gave him a sad, yet appreciative smile. I knew what he'd sacrificed now, and I knew why he'd done it. The least I could do was show him that I knew that it still hurt, but that he'd done the right thing.

"Before you helped a lot of people," I finished for him.

He seemed to think about that for a split second before he nodded and looked down again. It still hurt him, that sacrifice. He'd given up a chance at happiness to save the world. He'd given up a chance to marry the girl, have little a little Rogers brood, and live happily ever after until he died peacefully in his bed. I should have felt insignificant in the face of that sorrow, knowing that he was still mourning the loss of a past love that would never be. After all, he had a serious connection with me, so why should he be so sad about losing one girl when he had another right in front of him? Well, because love and sorrow are seldom so simple, and rarely listen to logic and reason. Getting over someone took time, even if you had someone new. Everyone comes with past relationship baggage. He just happened to be carrying the baggage of the loss of his first love. What was more, the carry on he'd brought with him was filled with guilt and pain, knowing that he'd been the cause of his own emotional ruin. I could understand that. I could sympathize with that. What I couldn't do was be mad at him for mourning his past life.

I moved my leg out from under his hand so I could scoot up next to him. I sat like he did, with my body facing forward and my feet planted on the ground, my body so close to his that the only thing keeping our thighs and arms from touching was me trying to keep my body curled in to itself. My legs were pressed tight together, and my arms were pulled in close to my sides, trying to take up as little space as possible. I still didn't want to get too close, to shove too much comfort at him at once. My left hand went to his knee and just sat there, a heavy touch with no movement, a grounding palm to keep him from flying away with his grief. Yet another symbol that I was there for him without being overwhelming about it. My eyes stayed steady on the hand, our bodies too close for me to look up at him without straining my neck. However, he was taller, so looking down and over at me was easier for him. And he did so. Through my peripheral vision, I saw him steady his gaze on the side of my face.

"I'm sorry that you had to make that choice," I said. "It's not easy to choose between love and duty."

"You make it seem easy," he stated.

The words were simplistic, strung together in a phrase that could be taken dozens of different ways all depending on the inflection and tone you gave to them. Steve's tone, his inflections, made the words sad, almost mournful, as if his pain was grabbing on to anything it could in an attempt to escape his body. I didn't like that tone. I didn't like that pain. I wanted suck that pain out of him like the venom it was and spit it in to the eye of whatever demonic force had seen fit to torture him. Alas, I couldn't do that. All I could do was focus on the words rather than the tone that they were so heart achingly delivered with. I focused on those words, let the ridiculousness of them seep in to my mind, and regardless of Steve's mood, I scoffed.

I scoffed, letting my snark and sarcasm carry me out of his sadness and into a world I knew oh so well. A world where the only emotions that existed were tinged with bluntness and self-deprecation. The latter latched on to me, digging its claws deep in to my brain. Me, it asked, easily choose between love and duty? Yeah fuckin' right. That was like saying I easily chose between spaghetti and steak. There was no choosing. There was a crapton of compromise that didn't work out, but there was no choosing. In fact, I did such a poor job of choosing between love and duty, and between spaghetti and steak, that other people had to choose for me. The people I dated who didn't like my job either left me or gave me ultimatums that would force me to choose one thing over the other. I hated ultimatums, so I tended to drop the person giving me the ultimatum like they had a contagious deadly disease. In the end, I hadn't even chosen duty. I'd simply chosen to not give in to ultimatums.

"Making it _seem_ easy and it _being_ easy are two very different things. I could make pitching a one-hundred mile per hour fastball seem like it's a breeze, when in reality, it takes a lot of hard work to even get your arm in to the condition to pitch that fast, let alone have it hit an intended target that's roughly twice as big as a human hand. It seems easy, but it isn't," I explained. "Besides, I don't choose between love and duty. I never have."

"I've seen you choose love over duty," Steve said.

That pulled me out of the land of FuckItAll faster than a spontaneous declaration of love could. I looked up at him, twisting my neck at an awkward angle so I could give him the full force of my bewildered gaze. For a moment in time, I wished he were shorter so I could hold the gaze longer without straining my neck muscles.

"When?" I asked, frowning at him.

He met my eyes, showing me that his sadness still swam under the surface of calm seas, waiting for its chance to jump out like some great sea serpent of legend to pull his vessel under. My hand on his leg automatically started moving, rubbing up and down and around in small, brisk strokes so I could soothe the beast that waited just under the gently rolling waves. The beast slunk further in to the depths and I knew, in the deepest parts of my soul, that I'd tamed the Kraken for at least a short while. While it was weird as hell for me to be able to do that so easily, it was good enough for me. What wasn't good was Steve's example of me so easily choosing love over my job.

"With Katie," he said. And just like that, my hand stopped moving. "You defied standard procedure so you could keep holding on to her. You used your powers to kill three men when there were enough people with guns around you to take out a small army. You chose her over duty."

This was not a conversation I wanted to be having. Any conversation about Katie was not a conversation I wanted to be having. One moment my hand was on Steve's knee, and the next I was pushing myself up, pushing myself away from him and the couch. The silence in the room was deafening, like it had been the split second after the bullet had…no. I wasn't going to go there. I wasn't going to think about that. I had to think about how Steve didn't seem to want to do such much as breathe as I made my way toward the kitchen, had to think about the tension rolling off of my body to color the air red with each step I took. I let that silence and tension hang thick in the air as I turned on the oven so I could make our dinner. It was coming up on seven-forty-five and I was the kind of person who liked to eat before eight-thirty. I was also the kind of person who liked to drink whiskey to get their mind off of emotional pain. Not the best vice, that alcohol stuff, but it worked in a pinch. Besides, I hadn't cleansed my soul from earlier when I'd been stuck in Valley Girl Hell for a good six hours.

I searched through the spice cabinet and found a little bottle of my vice sitting in the very back of the top shelf. I had to climb the counter to get to the little fifth bottle of Jack Daniel's that was already half empty. That was the shitty thing about being short and lazy. You tended to climb to get to stuff that you needed. On the bright side, I was really good at climbing. So why was there Jack Daniel's in the spice cabinet? My grandfather used this particular bottle to add a little something extra to some of the recipes he cooked. The rest of his stash was in the basement, which you had to go outside to get in to. It took you opening a small set of double doors that were nestled in the ground at the side of the house for you to reach his room of booze. Those doors were locked up and guarded as tightly as the rest of the house was, and I really didn't feel like going through the process of searching through his deathtrap of a shed to find those keys while I was stuck in the cart of an emotional rollercoaster. Knowing me, I'd end up trashing his shed out of frustration. Climbing on the counter was so much easier than all of that.

With the bottle in hand, I turned on my knees, and managed to slip in to a sitting position on top of the granite counter. All it took was a good grip and a twist of my wrist to loosen the top of the whiskey bottle, and I soon had a little black cap sitting next to me on the counter. For a moment, I thought about getting a glass for my whiskey. Then I remember my usual motto of "fuck it" and said to hell with the glass. I was his granddaughter. I'd eaten off of spoons after him, and he'd eaten off of spoons after me. What was a little saliva and skin cells around the lip of a bottle of whiskey that was used purely as a spice? Nothing. That's what.

I tipped my head back, letting just my bottom lip touch the opening of the bottle as I poured firewater in to my mouth. I stopped pouring only when I felt that my mouth couldn't hold any more liquid and tilted the bottle out of my mouth's reach before I pressed my lips closed. Hey, I may have not wanted a glass, and I may have not cared about getting my DNA and germs all over the rim of the bottle opening, but I wasn't rude enough to put a recipe bottle full of backwash up on the shelf to be used again. That was just nasty. And wrong.

It took me one large gulp to get the whiskey down. The alcohol burned where it touched, making everything between my lips and my stomach tingle with the remnants of pain and warmth as the whiskey passed it by. I rested my head against the corner of the open cabinet, keeping my eyes closed as I let the drink sanitize my wounds. It washed away the infection that was the Valley Girl, sloughed away the germs that were my emotions, and burned away the necrotized flesh at the edges of the gaping hole in my heart. I let out a content sigh as the bottle dangled from the hand that lay nearly limp between my thighs.

Once I was sure the last of the bad stuff was washed away, I opened my eyes to find Steve standing on the other side of the kitchen, his butt pressed against the door of the warming oven. He hadn't said a word while I'd fed myself liquid lies. He didn't say a word when I offered the bottle to him. He simply shook his head, his eyes on me seeming like they were worried and waiting. I took one more sip from the bottle, one last dose of medicine to cleanse me of my ills, before I sealed it up and set it on the counter next to me.

I watched him watch me as the whiskey slid down my throat, waited to see if he would get a look on his face like most men did when they saw a short female drink straight hard liquor without a chaser. A good portion of people I knew, male, female, or otherwise, would cough or make a face. Not me. I simply licked my lips and went on my business, and that seemed to impress people. It was almost is if they viewed my tolerance, nay, my enjoyment, of liquor's taste to be a talent of sorts. In a way, I supposed it was. I could drink Everclear like it was water, and I didn't think even hardcore drunks could boast that. But I owed my strange talent to family. My dad and my grandfather drank the heavy stuff and never so much as twitched a lip, so I always assumed I'd acquired my "talent" though my genes rather than through liver-decimating practice. Looking at Steve's face, I didn't see any sign that he was impressed with my drinking skills. He was all worry and waiting. Worry for my wellbeing and waiting for my response. And I was so unwell that I kept him waiting, all so I could analyze him as he watched me drink. I needed to be well. I needed to force myself to be well, if not for my sake then for his. So, I finally gave him what he wanted.

"I didn't choose Katie over duty," I said. "Grief and anger chose. Not me. I didn't have enough time to think, let alone to choose anything. My mind knew what it had to do and it did it without me actively telling it to. You…" I motioned a hand at him, as if he didn't know who else I could have been talking to in the otherwise empty house, "you chose. You took the time to assess everything in your situation and you chose the option that would save the world but sacrifice yourself. You chose to put the bird in the water rather than to try to land it. You drove a plane nose first in to an icy wasteland, and you didn't even try to pull out of the dive. You just did it. Regardless of the fact that you are standing here today, you chose death over life and love. If anyone on this planet makes choosing between love and duty look easy, it's you. Not some emotion-laden agent that acted too late."

I shifted on the counter, pulling my head and back away from the cabinets so I could lean forward. I gave Steve the full weight of my green and gold eyes, let him see that hardness that I knew only survivors and warriors had. I let him see down in to my heart, let him see the hole the size of a bullet wound that would never heal. I let him see what drove so many soldiers to the bottle, what drove so many cops to the ends of their barrels, what had driven me so far in to myself that I still had nightmares. I had seen the worst that humanity had to offer, and had the knowledge that I couldn't stop the suffering no matter what I did. My gaze bore in to him like it would be able to see the wall behind him if it only tried hard enough.

"I did choose when it came to Katie, but I went the wrong way with it. I chose duty over love. I chose to follow orders, to pretend that we were making the trade when I should have chosen to level every mother fucking Russian that I saw the second I saw them. Before I even got out of that car, those men should have been dead. I assessed everything in my situation, let optimism, trust, loyalty to my job, and fear of prejudice blind me. I chose duty, and I chose wrong. Now please, do me a favor and don't bring up Katie again. Especially not when I'm trying to be the one comforting you. Okay?"

Steve stared at me, let my words, the truth and the raw strength of them, wash over his body. I watched him bathe himself in my anger and my pain, watched as he absorbed it and made it disappear in to his skin. He drank my emotion in like he was tasting a familiar, bitter wine. He knew the pain of loss at the hands of duty, and he held that same anger under his skin. There wasn't much of it, but it was there, his other emotions keeping it in check until it needed to come out. I saw his rage as he saw mine, and I remembered how I'd felt when I'd first kissed him. I'd felt like I wasn't the only one having to carry the flag of anguish anymore.

All it took was that thought, that realization, and I gave that anger up to him, let him take it like I'd let the whiskey take me. I let that anger go, I gave it up to him until I was finally able to focus on what we'd started talking about in the first place. My mind, finally clear of the rage that had clouded it, dove back in to its comfort zone, to the place where everything was a joke and nothing hurt. My self-preservation tactic kicked in to high gear to pull both me and Steve out of the river of pain I'd driven us both in to.

"Okay," he replied.

"Good. Thank you," I stated as I settled myself back against the open cabinet. "We got off track. You're a virgin."

I think the change of pace was too abrupt for Steve, because he actually coughed out a chuckle. Ah, humor. The emotion that was always there to fall back on when things didn't quite go how you expected them to. Humor was the pillow that kept you from smacking your head against the glass of the window when the emotion bus was being whipped around too much. This particular emotion bus needed someone other than me to be its driver, because I was starting to pull stunts that had even Evel Knievel's ghost going "Oh, shit. That's dangerous. Don't do that."

The timer on the oven that told me it was hot enough went off just as Steve nodded and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm a virgin."

I put the whiskey bottle away and closed the cabinet before hopping off of the counter. As I grabbed the baked spaghetti from the freezer, Steve's voice sounded from the other side of the kitchen.

"I'm guessing you're not?" he asked.

I turned to him, aluminum pan in hand, and closed the freezer door with my foot. A simple nod of my head wasn't answer enough for that question, but I gave him a curt nod anyway as I moved toward the oven. He obligingly moved out of my way, taking enough steps back that I knew the heat wouldn't so much as lick at his skin when I opened the oven door.

"You guess correctly," I finally replied as I put the pan of food on the middle rack.

I closed the oven door and pressed the numbers for the timer before turning back to him. I'd taken his spot. Unfortunately, instead of it being my butt leaning on the oven handle, it was the beginning of the curve of my ass that was nestled against the smooth chrome. The only thing saving my spine from being ground up against mental was a few layers of muscle and fat. Hooray for having an ass!

"Do you mind if I ask who you lost it to?" he asked.

Apprehension and nervousness were so clear in his voice that I didn't have to look up to see the emotions smeared across his handsome face. I knew what it looked like. Hell, I'd seen it not thirty minutes ago. Regardless of that little fact, I looked up at him. The best way to approach this topic was with transparency, confidence, and an extreme lack of any kind of guilt. I was going to let regret hang out with us for a bit, though, because he needed to know that being a virgin wasn't a bad thing. And the best way to approach being transparent, confident, and guiltless was to use eye contact. So, I made eye contact as I gave him a little shrug.

"Sure," I said, as another small nod bobbed my head. "It was my high school crush, um….Brandon Johnson, I think was his name. Poor guy had the most generic pair of names on the planet right after John Smith or Bob Jones. Anyway, I'd had the hots for him since sophomore year, when we were fifteen. When I was seventeen, a friend of mine threw a graduation party for herself and all of her graduating friends, and Brandon was there. I decided screw it, I'm never gonna see him again after tonight so I'll hit on him. Well, turned out he'd liked me, too, thought I was weird but 'totally hot, bro,'" I rolled my eyes as I put quotation marks around the words that were clearly meant to embody every male teenage douchebag since the seventies, then continued, "and we ended up having sex. And I was right. After graduation, I never saw him again."

"Do you ever regret having sex with him?" Steve asked.

A bit of the trepidation and nervousness was still there, but it was quickly falling away to reveal pure curiosity. I think, or I hoped, that he saw that I was going to be a neutral party when it came to virginity. I wasn't going to judge him for being a virgin. I wasn't going to tell him to go get laid. I wasn't going to tell him to stay a virgin until the right girl came along. I was just going to give him the facts and let him do with them what he wanted. He was a big boy, and smart to boot. He'd figure out how to go about losing his own virginity without me adding any superfluous opinions to the mix.

"Oh, yeah," I replied nonchalantly, a shrug lifting my shoulders. "But I don't regret it because I wasn't in love with him, which I know is what you're thinking." He gave me a little nod to tell me I was right and I kept going. "I regret it because I was like almost every other teen chomping at the bit to lose their virginity. I was being told by my peers that being a virgin was bad and that you had to hand over your V-Card to the first person that would have you. I regret it because I knew nothing about my body or how to derive pleasure from it. I couldn't tell him to go one way or another, to move his hips this way or that, or to even use his hands on certain spots so I could actually have an orgasm rather than lie there like a lump in the blankets. I didn't know how to make myself orgasm, so I couldn't tell him how to make me orgasm, so the whole thing just sucked. What was more, even if I did know that stuff, I probably would have been too nervous to say anything. As a teenager, I didn't know what sex was supposed to be like anyway, so who was to say that we weren't doing everything right? Long story short, I regret giving in to peer pressure, not knowing enough about my body, and not knowing enough about sex in general. I have no regrets about who I slept with because he was hot, he didn't have STD's, and we used protection."

"Would you have sex with him again?" was the next question.

"Not unless I dated him, no," I replied.

"So…" he paused for a second, trying to think of the right way to phrase his question. "You have to be in a relationship with someone before you have sex with them?"

"I do," I replied. "Other people might not. See, other people might love to have one night stands, where they have sex with someone and never talk to them again, like I did with what's-his-face."

"Brandon," Steve said.

"Yeah. Him. Other people might be in to casual sex where they fuck their acquaintances or friends, but never cross over in to dating territory. Other people, like me, might have sex only when they're dating someone, and even then it depends on the couple to determine when they start having sex. Some start having sex after the first date, some start after dating for several weeks or months, and some might wait until they get married. Some people will have multiple dating relationships all going on at the same time, where all parties consent that you can have sex and relationships with other people. That's called polyamory, by the way, as in, many loves, and it's all based on the people in the relationships having knowledge of other partners and consenting that their partner can have sex and date another person who also gives their partner consent to dating and having sex with other people. It sounds more complicated than it really is, though. Trust me on that."

"Do you do…polyamory?" He said the last like he was trying to remember if that was the word I'd sprinkled in to the newest lecture.

"Good memory, but no," I replied with a grin. "I am strictly a one woman man."

I paused for a second, my grin falling in to a frown as I thought over that last sentence while a smile blossomed on Steve's face. It took me a tad too long to realize exactly what my vocabulary slip up had been, and then I frowned more. Shit. I gave Steve a half-assed glare, the kind that says you're glad the other person finds your idiocy to be hilarious while you find it to be worthy of a mere giggle. It was a glare that friends tended to give friends. I spoke with that glare still aimed at him, the soft touch of humor in my eyes taking the edge off of what frustration was there.

"I got the…genders mixed up there but…shut up. You know what I mean," I said.

My lips pushed themselves out, straddling the line between being kissable and being pouty. Steve coughed to cover up a laugh, and executed it so poorly that it earned him another glare. That time, he couldn't help himself. He came undone and started laughing hard enough that he actually put both hands on his chest like he was trying to restrain himself. It didn't restrain him in the least. Dick move, Steve's hands. You didn't do your job properly. My hand reach out to press against the swell of his arm and give him a playful shove away from me. It knocked him off balance enough that he actually swayed a little. Finally, after a few minutes of him laughing and me chuckling at him, because watching him lose it was funny, he righted himself so we could continue the conversation.

"So you only date one man at a time," he finally said, humor still thick in his voice.

"Yep," I replied.

"How many men have you dated?"

"I- Woah."

There was a question I hadn't seen coming. If I was being honest with myself, I should have seen it coming, but I hadn't. Let's hear it for having shitty people skills. Okay, so how did we turn this suddenly awkward-for-me question in to something not awkward for me? With humor, of course! I raised an eyebrow at the tall man before me, giving him the best look of humored incredulity that I could manage.

"Trying to get a bead on the competition, Rogers?" I asked teasingly.

He gave me a look that I didn't ever expect to see coming from him. It was one of attraction and lust, with a hint of primal possessiveness. It very clearly said, I want to make you mine so that no one else can have you, so that no one past, present, or future will ever matter to you while you're with me. I want you to come to me every night, to be my one and only, and I want everyone else to pale in comparison. It took everything I had to not blush under that gaze, and still I failed. I felt tingling heat rise up to kiss my cheekbones. Thankfully, I had long hair to hide that shit. I just hoped it didn't spread to the apples of my cheeks, or to the rest of my face.

"Yes," was the succinct response that broke the dam, allowing red to flood my cheeks until it looked like they'd been slathered in blush.

I had to look away then, to take my face out of his line of sight. I hated blushing, and I hated it when people saw me blush. It wasn't a fun time for me. My mind scrambled to figure out what to say to him, and to try to wipe the heat away from my face before I could bring myself to look up through the black curtain of hair I was hiding behind. Finally, after what seemed like hours of trying to calm my libido, I was able to look up in to that intense gaze and actually talk rather than babble incoherently. Miraculously, my voice was as steady as my knees weren't, and I was able to speak without so much as a stammer. Way to go, mind!

"Right!" I said. "I don't know how to respond to that."

"With the answer to the question," Steve replied, not missing a beat.

In the time it had taken me to regain control of my body and libido, his face had sloughed off that primal possessiveness and lust, until all that remained was attraction and a growing glimmer of humor. I was more relieved than words could say that he'd managed to strip off that lust. I was already having a hard time not wanting to jump him, and I wasn't even officially dating him. I really didn't need a not-wanting-to-bone-him battle. Not this soon after the not-wanting-to-kiss-him battle that I'd so spectacularly lost. Plus, my resolve was probably the weakest it had ever been in my entire life. If he gave me that look again, I wasn't entirely certain what I'd do, but I was sure as hell that it wouldn't be good. I'd either throw him in to a bed and ride him, or I'd cower under a bed until Fury sent a replacement bodyguard. Why was riding him bad? Because he was my charge, and it was bad enough that I was kissing him and thinking of dating him. Why was cowering under a bed bad? Because then I wasn't doing my job _and_ I was being a chicken shit.

I did not need this problem. Maybe if I just answered the question, he wouldn't use that primal look for the next three months as I tried to get to know him better. Hold on a goddamn second. Was that look meant to make me weak at the knees? Was he trying to finagle the answer out of me by making me want him? No. No! That didn't seem like something Steve would do. That seemed like something I would do. Oh, sweet tits, was he learning the art of seduction and lying through me? No. He'd been friends with Natasha long before he'd ever met me, and seduction and lying was what she did for a living. If he hadn't started changing his ways after hanging out with her for at least two years, then he sure as hell wasn't going to start changing in the two days I'd known him. No. I had to be projecting again. I also had to be stalling again. I seemed to be good at that.

"Fine," I said after a few moments. "I've dated seven men since I was eighteen. Four of them were serious enough to have sex with. There. You have an answer. Jerk."

I folded my arms under my breasts and went back to pouting. I was not above pouting if it got him to not give me that look again. Then again, he'd given me that look after I'd started pouting. AUGH! Too much thinking! If I kept this up, I was going to think myself in to bed for the next three days while I tried to get all of this crap figured out. I didn't have that kind of time to dedicate to solving my own problems. I was too busy being a bodyguard who was…kissing...her...charge. Oh, sweet lord! Why was this happening to me?

"Did you love them?"

That one question shoved me from one line of thinking to the next. This line of thinking wasn't as disturbing seeing as how it was in the past and wasn't trying to push me in to or away from a certain captain. This, I could deal with, and happily so. Let's see. Did I love the men I'd ended up sleeping with? The short answer was no. The long answer was, I'd thought I had until recently. Quite recently. Okay, so maybe this wasn't as happy a train of thought as I expected it to be. Shit, dude. How did you tell someone that no, you hadn't been in love with the people you'd spent months in a relationship with, and that you'd only just realized that after meeting the very person who'd asked you if you'd loved those other people? You didn't tell someone that. It was impossible. You had to either find a loophole around giving that exact answer, or you had to create a loophole out of thin air. Thankfully, I was a Slytherin, and loopholes were my thing.

I hunkered my shoulders down, rounding them over the rest of my body as my eyebrows beetled together. The sound that came out of my mouth resembled that of a confused Jewish mother trying to explain why she was eating cake when the doctor had placed her on a strict diet. Maybe I needed to lay off of watching The Nanny for a while.

"Eech," was my response before I pulled myself back to stand at my full height. Yeah. Definitely laying off of The Nanny for a while. "No, I don't think I was. I was…infatuated with them. It can be a little difficult to tell the difference sometimes."

"Are you infatuated with me?"

And, there it was. Yet another question that threw me off. Now I was starting to think this was intentional. Was he flirting Tony Stark style, or was he actually curious? I looked at him like he'd surprised me, which he had. My eyes were wide, my mouth parted ever so slightly as I stared up at a genuinely curious face that held a glint of wickedness. He knew what he was doing to me, and he was enjoying it, but Gods help me, he was actually asking out of curiosity. My reactions were just the cherry on his sundae, a little bit of something extra to make him smile. I morphed my surprise in to a stubborn frown, my lips pursing together as the inner corners of my pinched eyebrows raised toward my hairline.

"I plead the fifth," I replied, giving him hard eyes. "You know, the fifth amendment of the Bill of Rights that says I don't have to incriminate myself? That one. I plead that."

"I know what it is," Steve said with a small, almost teasing smile. "But don't people generally use that in court?"

"We are in court," I said, unfolding my arms from under my breasts. "This is my court, and court is in session."

I slapped my hand against the countertop hard enough that it sent a sharp tingle of pain up my arm. Whoops. Hadn't meant to do that. I pulled the arm back to my side, acting as if it hadn't hurt to slam my palm on to solid granite. That was another one of my mottos: Never let them see you bleed. It didn't matter who the "them" in that phrase was. You didn't let anyone see you act like you were in pain, even if they'd just watched you get gutted by a Bowie knife. No, you kept that shit locked away like it was the princess in fairy tale that ended with the princess dying in her cage. Unfortunately, I'd focused so much on the dying princes and not letting Steve see that I was hurt that I hadn't noticed that he'd positioned himself to stand right in front of me. Whoops again.

"Court wasn't in session when I asked the question," he stated, staring down at me with eyes that held way too much emotion than was required for that particular sentence.

"My court is always in session. I just decide when I want to make that known to everyone," I replied.

Him standing so close was having its usual effect on me. I suddenly wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to run my hands over his body until I knew every rise and fall of each of his muscles as he moved under me. Even though that reaction rode me, my voice was steady when I spoke. YAY! My heart was trying to meet Steve's through our chests. NOT YAY! It was as if my heart was telling me to touch him with my hands or it was going to escape and touch him for me. Definitely not yay!

"Judges don't usually plead the fifth in their own courtroom," Steve said.

His right hand was suddenly on my forearm, his fingers teasing their way to my elbow. I sucked in a breath, fighting to make it as steady as my voice had been. I failed. It entered my lungs in a shuddering wave, like I'd been hit by a blast of cold air and couldn't help but shiver. One touch and my reaction was one thousand times worse than it had been. Once touch and I had a hard time taking even breaths.

"My courtroom," I said, and this time my voice held an unsteady edge to it. "I do what I want."

"You should know, your honor, that you're incriminating yourself with your body language," Steve said.

I tried to focus on my body, to figure out what he was talking about, but I couldn't think past the hand on that was moving past my elbow to caress my upper arm. Another hand was suddenly at my hip, and I swallowed so hard that it hurt my throat. I couldn't think. I tried to reach out and grab for anything, any string of words that might help me in this conversation. I grabbed on to one phrase and had to push it out of my throat, had to force it past the muscles that had contracted so hard that even air couldn't escape.

"It's not furtive," I managed. "Therefore, it's inadmissible."

"It's admissible in my court," he replied.

He was starting to lower himself down, starting to bring his lips closer to mine. My eyes flicked between those perfect pink mounds of flesh and eyes that I could drown in, and I didn't know what to do. Something in my mind was still yelling at me to not kiss my charge, to not let him affect me the way he did, to push him away and just watch TV. But I couldn't move. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to do anything but stand there and let him come down to me. I reached for another phrase another statement to help me.

"We're not in your court," I whispered.

"Yes we are," he replied.

And then I couldn't argue, because his lips were on mine. Didn't want to argue because I'd thrown my arms around his neck. Didn't want to do anything but touch him, kiss him, press him against a wall and ravage him with my lips until we were both weak-kneed and gasping for air. I broke away to kiss his neck, to nip at his skin, when a shrill noise sounded, loud and sudden enough that it made me jump. I broke away from him with a sharp gasp, slamming my back in to the oven handle while my palms slapped themselves on countertops at either side of the stove. My heart was in my throat now, still trying to escape, but now it was out of fear rather than lust. I tried to swallow my heart down again as Steve moved forward. After a short beep, the shrill noise stopped, and I realized that it was the timer. I'd been so wrapped up in Steve that I'd been scared half to death by an oven timer.

I felt relief sweep over me, felt it wrangle my heart back in to its place in my chest. I let the relief sweep over my face. Behind the relief was a tidal wave of embarrassment, embarrassment at being a trained agent that had jumped out of her skin because of an oven timer. The wave crashed over me and flooded my cheeks with the red I so loathed. With a loud groan, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to Steve's chest. My hand found his shirt and started balling it up so I could hide my face. His arms wrapped around my back, pulling me in tight to the front of his body. He held me so close that I could feel the tension in his arms, in the way he held his shoulder, in the way his chest was tight from holding in a lungful of air.

"Stupid timer," I muttered.

And then the tension in him was gone and we were both laughing.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Steve and I spent the rest of the night educating him on movies that he absolutely needed to see. My grandfather, being his awesome self, owned the original Star Wars trilogy. It was the 2004 DVD version, so it had Hayden Christensen as Vader's ghost rather than Sebastian Shaw, which pissed me off to no nerdy end, but it was still Star Wars. I kept trying to remind myself to buy my grandfather the 2006 DVD release, so it had the right fucking actor portraying Anakin's force ghost, but I'd be damned if I could ever remember to actually buy it. Being an agent often meant that your personal life, and buying stuff for those that you loved, went out the window because you were usually being thrown in to some sort of task that needed your full attention. I was currently on such a task, so I knew that I would once again forget to buy Granddad the box set that he so desperately needed. And that was why, once I saw Hayden Christensen's face pop on to the screen, I made a disgusted noise and wrote a note to Grandad to buy the right box set, lest I beat him with his own cane.

Aside from that one time that I absolutely needed to get up during the course of the films, Steve and I sat on the couch close enough that we could almost cuddle. We didn't, because I didn't do cuddling, and because if I was pressed in to his side, I wouldn't be able to see his face. I wanted to see how invested he was, wanted to watch his face when a big reveal came or when a good battle sequence happened. And boy, was that man invested. His eyes didn't move away from the television screen the entire time the movies played. He was well and truly enthralled by the world of Star Wars. My quest to nerdify him was going swimmingly. By the time I was done with him, he'd be Captain Geeky America. The Nerd of Justice!

Unfortunately, by the time all three films were finished, it was almost one-thirty in the morning. To say I was exhausted would be a massive understatement. Between eight-thirty that morning and now, Steve and I had done a lot. We'd killed a Hydra agent, moved locations, went to a mall to find Barnes, hopefully saved some kid's life, went both clothes and grocery shopping, and explored our feelings for each other. Plus, I had to dress like a girl and act super sweet, _and_ I had to deal with difficult emotions all fucking day. Hell, I'd cried not thirty minutes after waking up, and crying usually drained my energy reserves to the point that I needed a long nap in order to recover. Put on top of that the fact that I'd had to deal with Thompson and Cherry Wood, had to fight my feelings for Steve, had to be empathetic, and had damn near had another emotional breakdown that ended with me drinking whiskey, and you had one tired woman.

After the last movie had ended, I had Steve go upstairs so I could make sure the house was locked up tight and then turn off all of the lights. I didn't want him fumbling up the stairs in the dark. Besides, it was my grandparents' house, so I should be the one to lock it down. Once my little security and electronic check was over, I made my way upstairs, closed my bedroom door, and crawled in to the cream-colored sheets so I could crash in to a mini-coma.

And crash, I did. I crashed so hard that I landed in another world, one made up of rusting metal and old concrete. I was staring down a long stretch of a concrete floor, looking in to pleading hazel eyes from yards away. Dark red liquid and thick globs of cherry colored things suddenly burst out above those pleading eyes, and then there was no one home left to beg for help. The light was quenched as if by water as those eyes fell forward, as they followed the path of spraying crimson bits. People were screaming, screaming so loudly that the noise bounced around in my head until I couldn't think. I wanted the screaming to stop. I needed to think. I needed to focus. One by one, the screams faded, until there was only one, ragged cry that rang through my head. So loud. So piteous. So raw and angry and sad. So loud!

I was suddenly staring in to those hazel eyes again, their thick black lashes beaded with hot life's blood. My arms held the weight of her, my hands drawing her in close to hug her to my body as salty tears rinsed away the red tracks that colored her dirtied skin. My hand touched her face, smeared the water and blood and dirt across her cheek. My eyes fought to stay on hers, but something about the red rivulets that spilled over her cheeks made me look up. Made me look up the see the ruin of her forehead, the hole that had been torn out by scorching metal. My mind couldn't make sense of it, didn't want to make sense of it, didn't want to see the details that marred the perfection of that face. I tore my gaze away from that gaping imperfection, forced myself to stare in to those hazel eyes, so devoid of life and personality. I wished I could relight the flame that had been quenched. I wanted so badly to reignite her life, to bring her back to me.

I called my fire without thinking, let it dance over my skin in white hot flames. I let it spread, let it engulf us, let it try to find its way in to those hazel orbs that were already turning glassy. I willed her to see again, to live again. I willed that fire to bring her back. The flames licked at her face, touched the crimson tracks and specks at had settled on to her cheeks. They tried so hard to fill those eyes, to fill them with the fire of life. And they did it. Her eyes lost that glassy look, and that force of personality was back. She was in there. My Katie, my little sister, she was in there. Her pleading hadn't been for nothing. I'd saved her. Tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy as I pulled her in to me, hugged her tight to my body as the flames continued to nip at our flesh. My screams died, my sobs turning in to breathy apologies and utterances of love. She was back. Thank the gods, she was back.

She pulled out of my embrace, her hands grabbing my upper arms, pinning them to my sides. I looked in to those hazel eyes, and what I found wasn't my sister. It wasn't my sister. It wasn't her personality that blazed in those hazel depths. It was something evil, something that used words to cut you to the quick. Her grip got tighter as rage filled those normally sweet features. The sobs were back, the tears running down my cheeks in hot tracks filled with fear so cold that it burned. This wasn't Katie. What had I done? Gods, what had I done?! She shook me, and her voice came out hoarse, as if she'd screamed her throat raw long before the bullet had ruined her, as if death had already worried at her vocal chords like a rabid dog.

"You killed me," she said. "You didn't save me. You failed me! You killed me! I begged you! You killed me!"

Each word got louder and louder, until she screamed them in to my face. Her breath was hot against my skin, hot enough that when I sucked in a breath, it felt like I was choking on desert air. My head shook so rapidly that it rattled my brain, tears flinging themselves from my lashes as I tried to speak, tried to tell her I'd done all I could. But she just kept screaming at me, faulting me, blaming me, cursing me for killing her, for not helping her. I screamed back, tried to raise my voice louder than hers.

"I tried, Katie! Please! Please, stop! Stop!"

Her only response was to shake me harder, to scream at me louder, to call me a murderer. She screamed my name like it was a curse, spit it at me like it was poison on her tongue. I'd failed her. I'd killed her. I'd let her die. I hadn't protected her. I begged her like she begged me. I begged her to stop, to let me explain, to not blame me. I didn't kill her. I didn't kill her! My hands were suddenly wound tight in the fabric of her shirt, my fists gripping the front of her so I could pull her body in to mine. I yanked on her, forced her in to my arms, forced her to rest her head on my shoulder. I locked my arms around her waist, pinned her against me so she would stop shaking me, so she would stop hurting me. Her hands fell away from my shoulders, and I knew, from the lack of her heartbeat against my chest, from the sudden limpness in her body that only death could bring, that she was gone. She was gone again and I couldn't save her. I could never save her. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and cried. I cried until darkness ate at my vision, until nothingness gobbled me up and left me with nothing to cling to.

The next morning I woke up clinging to something solid, warm, and large. My right hand was wrapped in thin fabric, my knuckles pressing against something firm. My left arm was trapped between the valley of my breasts and some sort of rock. My legs felt like they were tangled in thick branches. I no longer had a pillow under my head. Instead, I was being supported by something more firm, like a bag that was packed full of wet sand. My forehead, and the rest of my torso for that matter, was pressed against the same rock that my left arm was trapped against. There was a heavy weight across my upper right arm, as if there was a thick chain holding me down. What the hell was going on? Had I been kidnapped? SHIT! I'd been kidnapped and now I was outside somewhere, tossed among branches and rocks, just chained and waiting to be eaten by the first big bad predator that crossed my path.

My eyes flew open, ready to assess exactly where the hell my body had been dumped. To my extreme surprise, I wasn't outside, and I wasn't pressed up against a rock. Not unless rocks were ripped and wore light blue t-shirts. I pulled away just enough to see what the hell was going on with my body. I stared down at my legs, and found them to be wound through and around long, thick legs that were covered with sweatpants. My hips were practically molded to the other person's hips, as if I'd been trying to get as close as possible to them during my slumber. I finally found my right hand, and saw that it was balled in to a fist around thin, light blue fabric that covered the smooth expanse of someone's waist. A large arm was flung over my body, practically hugging me to the muscled chest that my arm was trapped against. I knew without looking that my head was resting on the swell of someone's bicep. I was pretty damn sure at this point who I was pressed up against. My heart was suddenly racing, and I wasn't sure if it was out of lust, fear, or anticipation. I slowly lifted my head up, almost like I was the terrified protagonist in a horror movie just waiting to see something horrifying hanging above their heads.

What I saw wasn't horrifying. I saw Steve, his eyes closed and his face slack with sleep. His head was on the pillow that I'd abandoned at some point during the night, and his face was turned down so when he opened his eyes, he would see me rather than the room beyond my head. My heart actually skipped a beat of its rapid cadence as I stared up in to that handsome face. It was the first time I'd ever woken up like this, wrapped so tightly in someone's arms that one move could potentially wake them. I was glad Steve was the first. And then a very important question pummeled itself in to my tired brain, driving out all happy thoughts of being pressed against the man I was very much attracted to. What the hell was Steve doing in bed with me, and why in the hell did he have me wrapped around him?

My heart was back to pounding furiously, horror finally dawning. What had happened last night? We were both clothed, but his pants were easily pulled down and my shorts were easily pulled to the side. I hadn't moved enough to know if my body ached like I'd had sex. But even if we hadn't had sex, what the fuck was he doing in bed with me? Panic seized my body, and I released his shirt so I could put both hands on his chest and shove myself away from him. It worked, to an extent. My upper body flew backwards, ripping itself out of his grip. My legs, however, stayed tangled in his, so I was dangling halfway off the bed before he finally startled awake enough to move his legs away from mine. I lost the only thing that kept me on the bed, and ended up crashing to the floor with a noise that sounded an awful lot like "WAUGH!" coming from my throat. I landed on my back, my legs propped up on the side of the bed so my feet pointed toward the ceiling. I'd been so startled, and everything had happened so quickly, that I hadn't had time to brace myself for the fall, which meant I hit my head on the hard wood floor. I could already feel a headache forming at the back of my skull. I blinked up at the ceiling, still wondering exactly what the hell was going on when Steve's startled voice echoed around the room.

"Dani!" he cried.

The next thing I knew, he was hopping off of the bed to kneel beside my reposed form. His hands were suddenly on my body, carefully moving me in to a sitting position so my left shoulder was pressed to the side of the mattress. Big hands cupped my face, forced me to look at him. If he was still tired, it didn't show. Concern filled those blue eyes as they searched my face.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I went to nod, but his hands held me in place. Good thing, too. Nodding with a headache seemed like a bad idea.

"Yes. No. What were you doing in my bed?" I asked the last angrily, shoving the heel of my right hand in to his chest.

Headache or not, I was mad. He gets a kiss and a virgin talk and he thinks he can get in bed with me? He thought he could get all up close and personal, and press my body against his like we were lovers? We weren't lovers! Even if I did like how we woke up, all tangled together like are bodies were trying to meld in to one, it didn't excuse his actions. I tried to push him away from me, tried to press the heel of my hand in to those rock hard pecs to just get him away from me. He didn't get to touch me right now. He didn't have that right. I pushed harder, trying to move him away from me, but that mass that was Steve didn't budge. I realized that I was glaring at the hand that was fruitlessly pushing at his upper body. I could use my powers, move him back, move him away from me so I could be free of him while he explained what the hell had been going on in his mind. I raised my angry green eyes to his worried blue ones.

Confusion swam up to mingle with the worry, and a small frown tugged at his full lips. His hands moved from my face to my shoulders as his eyebrows pinched together. The motion caused two deep creases to appear between his eyebrows, and I suddenly had the need to rub my thumb over those creases so I could smooth them way. Angry or not, I wanted to rub away that telling sign of a frown, those wrinkles that must have only appeared within the last few years of his life. Those little wrinkles, coupled with the confusion and worry in his eyes, was enough to strip away most of my anger. Now I was just frustrated. Frustrated at how I'd woken up, frustrated that I had that physical need to touch him, frustrated that he was looking at me like I'd just told him lizard people were in the White House and trying to take over our country. Why was he looking at me like that?!

"You don't remember?" he asked.

"Apparently not," I replied, the words holding an edge of bitterness to them.

"I woke up around three in the morning to you screaming," he stated.

He seemed thoroughly unfazed by my lashing out and my irritated tone. I guess if I were him, I'd be unfazed, too. He'd been threatened by me before, and he'd already seen how my anger worked. I had a moment to wonder why, if he was holding on to my arms, I wasn't calming down. Usually when he touched me, my fire was quenched down to embers, but now I was holding on to that frustration. Was he letting me keep it, or was he too emotional himself to be of any help? And then his words hit me. They registered in my brain, and I was no longer frustrated. Confusion took hold, and fear gripped my heart. Screaming? I'd been screaming? Why had I been screaming? What did me screaming have to do with him getting in my bed and staying there? I narrowed my eyes at him, trying like hell to fight the fact that I was suddenly terrified of what had happened during the night. I hated being scared. I hated being confused. Being angry was so much better than being scared or confused, or any combination of the two. I tried to find that anger again, tried to grab on to it like it was the only rope I could hold on to that wouldn't let the flood of bewilderment and fear carry me away. I clung to that anger, tied it tight around my waist, and braced myself against the raging river.

"That doesn't tell me why you were in bed with me," I said.

My voice was steady, angry again, without so much as a hint of the fear that was quickly soaking my body, that was splashing my face with muddy brown water. That muddy water clung to my skin, turning it from milky white to a strange pale brown. The siege of rushing water tried to pull me under, tried to force its way down my throat to coat my lungs with the fine silt of terror. Why was I so scared? What had happened last night? Hadn't I had a dream? Gods, I couldn't remember. Something, though, something about me screaming made me terrified, made me scared to even try to remember why I'd cried out in the darkness. Anything that could make me do that was bad. Very bad. Suddenly, I didn't want to know why Steve had been in the bed with me. But it was too late to turn back now, too late to tell him to leave it alone. I had to face this, and face it, I would. Steve took a deep breath, as if he were getting ready to tell a long story, and he didn't plan to take a break for air. That didn't seem good. That made the flood water rise higher, until I had to lift my chin to keep my airways above the torrent.

"When I came in here, you were covered in that white fire that we saw in the video," he said. "You were crying. I knew it was another nightmare, and I tried to wake you. I tried shaking you and calling your name, but you started screaming more. You kept yelling for Katie to stop. Then you grabbed my shirt and pulled me against you, and you wouldn't let go." He lifted a hand to push back a few strands of dark hair that had fallen in front of my face when I'd tried to shove him away. "You held on to me and you cried. Once I held you back, you calmed down. I knew I couldn't leave you to go through another nightmare, so I stayed in the bed with you."

I stared at him, my own brows pinching together in confusion. I focused on his words, on the questions that swirled around in my head. I focused on everything but the horror that was trying to soak its way in to my skin. If I could face down terrorists and other big baddies without so much as flinching, then I could face this. All I had to do was concentrate. All I had to do was focus on my questions. They ravaged my mind, whirling around like debris caught in a tornado.

I'd been screaming for Katie to stop? Gods, what had I dreamed last night? And why had I been covered in white flames? And why wasn't the bed singed? Better yet, why wasn't Steve suffering from first degree burns if he'd grabbed me while I was covered in fire? I rubbed a hand across my forehead, trying to remember whatever dream I'd had. Why couldn't I remember? I closed my eyes, blocking my view of Steve as if it would help me concentrate. I tried to think back, tried to lift myself out of the fear water in an attempt to remember what would have made me burst out in flame and scream loud enough for Steve to come in to my room and start shaking me. Why would I grab on to him, and better yet, why wouldn't I let him go? None of this made sense. I tried to press my temple against the mattress, but was stopped by Steve's hand on my cheek.

I tried to focus on my dream, on what I might have seen in my sleeping mind. The scene came back to me in bits and pieces, until I finally got the gist of what had taken place. My throat was suddenly tight. She'd blamed me for her death. I'd stared in to hate filled hazel eyes, that perfect face that had been marred by bits of torn flesh and bloody bone and missing grey matter. I remembered why I'd called my fire, and why it hadn't burned the bed or Steve. That fire wasn't meant to burn flesh or cloth. It was meant to burn emotion, and in the dream, it was meant to give life rather than take it. I remembered Katie shaking me, and realized that Steve shaking me in the real world had probably translated poorly in my dream. I remembered Katie screaming my name, and Steve saying that he'd called mine as he tried to pull me out of my slumber. And when I'd grabbed the front of Katie's shirt, I'd really grabbed him. I'd clung to him like I'd clung to Katie's limp body. I'd wrapped him around me like he was the most comforting security blanket in the world. I'd wrapped myself around him like he was my dead sister.

The fear roared back to life, and rolled me under the waves until I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was scared, so scared that my dreams had taken a darker turn. They'd been getting so much better over the past three years, and all of a sudden, they were worse than ever. Now I had my sister's corpse blaming me, spewing out all of the hatred that I so often aimed at myself. She'd spoken the words that I'd only thought of. Logically, I knew it was still me screaming that blame and rage. I'd just let it take the form of my sister. My mind had given my heartache and blame a face, a pale face with hazel eyes and a bloody hole in her forehead. I'd screamed in to the night, set myself aflame to, and it had taken Steve wrapping me in his arms to calm me down. It had taken Steve to pull me out of my own nightmare that had personified my self-loathing. The rope around my waist tightened and started to lift me out of the flood of fear. My hands grasped the rope, pulled at the worn fibers until my skin burned. Appreciation for the man sitting in front of me pulled me out of the water. I could think again, think about more than my own dream. Steve had come to my aid.

He'd heard me crying out, seen me engulfed in flames, and he reached out to help me. He reached out to help everyone, but I was pretty sure this was a first even for him. Most people don't grab on to people who are on fire. No, they tend to take a few steps back or grab a fire extinguisher. But he was smart. He knew what the color of the fire meant, and he more than likely saw that it hadn't set the bed ablaze. Still, it was a risk for him to touch me, to shake me, especially when the last time he did that, he'd ended up on the ceiling. There was really no telling what I could have done this time around. I could have easily turned that fire in to the kind that ate flesh, to the kind that melted steel, to the kind that boiled brains inside of skulls. I could have pinned him to the ceiling with fire, and I would have never known. He was brave not only on the battlefield, but in everyday life. He grabbed on to me without knowing what I would do to him. He risked himself to help me. It was one thing to hear about his exploits, to read about him saving the whole of the United States, to read about him using himself as a human shield to protect others. It was an entirely different thing to have him come to your rescue, and to then have him stay by your side.

My body overrode my mind, then, and I launched myself forward. I threw myself in to his arms, wrapping my arms around his ribs so my hands could find the shoulders of his shirt and cling to the fabric. I pressed my cheek against the front of his left shoulder so my eyes stared at the pulse that thudded in his neck. I wanted to hide my face in that crook of warm flesh. I wanted to climb in to his lap and just let him hold me until the nightmare drifted out of my memory. I didn't, but I wanted to. I was too stubborn to show that much weakness. The hug could be easily written off as gratitude. Climbing in to his lap wasn't so easily explained. Slowly, gingerly, Steve's arms wrapped around my back, one hand finding the black tangle of my hair so he could press me more firmly in to his body. I don't think he expected me to wrap myself around him while I was awake, especially after I'd tried to shove him away. But he hugged me nonetheless, held me close to his shoulder as a sense of peace washed over me. He was calm now, and once again that rope started hoisting me out of the flood. This time I was pulled clear of the water, pulled up on to an untouched embankment so I could relax, so I could stop fighting the never ending rush of brown liquid. I closed my eyes and just let myself sit there on the untouched embankment that was his warmth, that was his calming presence.

"Thank you," I muttered, my breath skimming along the bottom of his collarbone.

"You're welcome," he said.

I felt his shoulder shift under my hands, and his lips were suddenly pressing against my forehead. It was a gentle touch of skin to skin, meant to be a comfort rather than a proposition for more. It was like when I'd reached my leg out to him. I wasn't offering anything sexual, just the comfort of skin on skin and close contact. I gave him more credit for his show of solace, though. He'd had to twist his neck in to an awkward angle to press his lips to my forehead. All I'd had to do was stretch out. I pushed the thoughts of comparison to the back of my mind and allowed myself to melt in to him. I let him hold me, and he let me hold him. His hands ran comforting lines down the length of my hair and down the curve of back, until I felt so soothed that I was almost certain I could fall asleep in his arms. We sat there like that on the floor, silently holding each other while I tried to regain full control of my emotions. Here was hoping it happened soon.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

By the time I had calmed my brain down enough to unravel myself from Steve's embrace, I'd found myself curled up in his lap. Yes, I'd told myself I wouldn't do that, but I was cold from sitting on the wooden floor. Sure, I was basically the living vessel of an impossibly hot bonfire and could create, control, and destroy fire just by thinking hard enough, but that didn't mean that I wasn't susceptible to the cold. And Steve was warm, almost feverishly warm to my chilly body. Part of me wasn't entirely certain it was the floor that was making me shiver. Part of me was adamantly saying that the dream had spooked me enough to make my body run cold with aftershocks of fear. This fear, the one brought on by hazel eyes and awaking next to a man I barely knew, was one I couldn't fight. It was one I couldn't run away from or turn in to anything else. I couldn't shoot at what had caused the panic, or stab it or set it ablaze, or even do so much as glare at it. All of my defense mechanisms to keep myself safe were gone when it came to this particular dose of scared. So the fear turned itself in to ice water and slipped through my veins like a virus, happy to have free reign over my body and mind until something came along to stop it. Until something came along to warm me.

I had Steve. Steve was my warmth against the cold wash of terror that ran through my body. I wrapped him around me like he was one of the blankets from the bed I'd abandoned and just basked in the heat that radiated off of him. He didn't complain or ask questions as I draped his arms around my back and huddled in to him. He just held me. He held me as I siphoned off his warmth, drinking it down like it was hot cocoa. He held me until my muscles stopped twitching, until the heat of his body melted the ice away. He held me until I was finally warm, finally comfortable enough that I started falling asleep on him. Only then did he say something, and it was edged with humor. Apparently he knew I was feeling better, otherwise he would have been all serious. That seemed like the kind of guy he was. Serious when he had to be and when other people needed him, but funny once the problem had passed.

"Dani," he said, pulling me away from his chest so he could look at my hooded eyes. "You have to wake up. We have work to do."

I looked up at him, or tried to, anyway, while my eyelids fought to close. I felt so safe, so warm, so comfortable. He'd removed all of my fear to the point that I was tired again, to the point that I felt like I could slip in to darkness without horrifying images marring my slumber. Why would I wake up when, for the first time in three years, I actually felt like it was safe to go to sleep? Answer: I wouldn't. I would grab the opportunity to have a dreamless sleep like it was a long-lost, well-loved stuffed animal, and I wouldn't let it go until I was satisfied or until it was ripped away from me. My eyelashes fluttered as I tried to stay awake, as I tried to think of exactly what to say to him. My mind wasn't exactly in the mood to string together simple sentences. Hell, it didn't want to think too much about speech at all. I found the only word my brain would allow me to dredge up from the new well of exhaustion that had so recently lodged itself inside of me.

"No," I said.

That one word was tired, firm, and stubborn. If I were awake enough to care, I'd have even said it sounded petulant. But I didn't care. I was tired, and sleep was the only thing I cared about. I flopped forward, slipping out of Steve's grasp to huddle against the mass of muscle that was the broad expanse of his chest. His pecs were like firm pillows, and were perfect to rest your head on when you were about to pass out. His chest shook with a laugh that he held captured in his lungs as he carefully slipped his body out from under mine. That was quite the feat, seeing as how I was literally curled up on top of him, but he managed. He managed to set me on the floor gently enough that it didn't rattle me, nor did it particularly wake me up. The floor was warm from where he'd been sitting on it. It was yet another great place to curl up and sleep, except this time, I wasn't so sure it would be dreamless. That safe feeling I had was almost completely gone, with one little thread still clinging to me. I realized that Steve's hands were holding me up by the shoulders. Was that why I still felt that twinge of safety? Probably.

"Yes," he insisted. He lowered his face enough to catch my exhausted eyes with his bright ones. Humor glittered in those blue orbs like sunlight sparkling on the top of the ocean. "I'll make coffee."

He said the last like it was a proposition, almost a question rather than a statement. Would coffee get me out of the bedroom and awake enough to want to do my job? Would the idea of imminent coffee make me compliant enough that he didn't have to carry me down the stairs? Why, yes. Yes, it would. Would it keep me from falling asleep again, even if I was suddenly scared the sleep wouldn't be dreamless? Probably not. So tired. I was so tired. But I managed to lift my head enough to give him suspicious, squinty eyes, as if my eyes weren't squinty enough from my eyelashes trying to meet my cheeks.

"No decaf?" I asked.

"No decaf," Steve assured me, a little smile playing at those kissable lips of his.

I sat there for a second, trying to think of whether or not the proposition was good enough for me to try to stay awake. I did have work to do. What if Barnes popped up on the radar and we had to go track him down again? What if Fury sent more intel? What if Fury called for a status update? What if we were attacked? Shit. I had to get up, didn't I? Ugh, I didn't want to! I looked at Steve, my eyes narrowed down to little slits that I could barely see through, a frown pulling down the corners of my lips. My eyebrows pinched together so hard and low over my eyes that I could see the blur of eyelashes and eyebrow hairs as I gave Steve a watered down glare.

"Okay," I finally acquiesced. "But it better be a big pot."

That got me one of those full grins, the kind that thinned out his top lip against his perfectly white teeth while making his bottom lip seem even fuller than usual. The warm glow of the sun shone at me from out of that handsome face, his eyes narrowed to happy little crescent moons. If I hadn't already been getting up for coffee, I would have gotten up for that grin alone. I was betting it was a smile he didn't share with people very often, which made me ecstatic to be on the receiving end of it. Well, as ecstatic as my tired mind could be. I grabbed on to the edge of the bed so I could pull my tired body up while that warm glow beat down on me. I felt Steve's hands on my back, keeping me steady as we both rose to our feet. For once, I didn't bitch about not needing any support to simply stand. He was being a gentleman, and he was being nice to me when I was being a large child. The least I could do was keep my mouth shut when he tried to help me. It was a first for me.

After some debate, with my side being mumbled out like I had cotton in my mouth, we agreed that I would go downstairs first like the good bodyguard I was supposed to be. Steve had argued that I was too tired to keep my eyes open, and while I hadn't debated that fact, I had told him that an adrenaline rush from being face to face with a bad guy would wake me up better than coffee would. For a little while, at least. Once the adrenaline wore off, I'd need coffee. Really, I needed coffee no matter what, and gods help the bad guy that fucked with me before I had coffee. If Steve thought me wanting to carve up Thompson was bad, then he'd hate what I'd want to do to someone who kept me from my liquid energy.

Once I went downstairs and found it empty of bad guys, I called Steve down and flopped myself on the couch. It wasn't the best place for me to go, seeing as I still wanted to sleep. Too bad for me, I realized that only as darkness began to pull me under. It felt like I'd only closed my eyes for a minute when I felt a large hand on my shoulder. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted to my nose and made me sit up. Still seeing out of eyes thick with sleep, I looked around to find Steve standing behind the couch, one hand on my shoulder and one hand holding a bright orange mug. My grandmother had read that bright colors like yellow and orange tended to energize you, while colors like blue and purple tended to calm you down. That meant that all of her coffee mugs were either yellow or orange, and all of her tea cups were white with a light blue or lavender filigree. I held out my hands for the coffee mug, which Steve obligingly handed over.

Without thinking, in a voice still raspy from sleep and screaming, I said, "Oh, I love you."

Steve gave me wide, shocked, utterly bewildered eyes. My mistake hit me like a baseball bat to the gut, and I met his shocked gaze with my own. Last night I hadn't even wanted to say I was infatuated, yet now I was saying I loved him? Oh, this was bad. How did I back out of this? I didn't love him. At least I didn't think so. Not in the way he was thinking. I loved him because he made and brought me coffee without me even asking. I did not love him romantically. Maybe. Hopefully. Did I? No! No way! Of course I didn't. That would be impossible. I didn't know him well enough to love him. Well, I knew all of his recorded history, but that didn't count. Okay, I didn't love him. So, how did I go about telling him that? I had no idea, but I tried explaining anyway. My mouth worked on forming words, but all I could get out was a bunch of syllables that were broken by shock. Ugh, I was too tired for this!

"I don't…I uh..y-..mm I didn't mean…uh, dt-that's not, I…" I paused, knowing I was failing spectacularly at trying to clean up the mess I'd made. Steve looked at me almost expectantly, as if he were waiting for me to retract the admission or own up to it. If I was being honest with myself, which I didn't want to be, it looked like he almost wanted me to own up to it. But I wasn't being honest with myself, so I told my brain that it was just tired and seeing things that weren't really there. Finally, I ended up saying, in a near whining tone, "My brain's not working."

Steve gave me another smile, only this one wasn't the sun rising over the horizon like his other one was. This one had apprehension and nervousness laced in to it, like he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to know if I'd meant what I'd said. It was almost like he was gearing himself up for rejection, for the admission to be taken back. And that hurt. Even though I told myself it was my tired brain making things up, seeing him steeling himself against possible pain hurt my heart. Mother fucker. This was why I didn't fall for people. It gave them the ability to cut you deeper than any knife. Goddammit. He gave my shoulder a gentle, almost reassuring squeeze, as if his eyes weren't giving it away that he was disappointed.

"Drink your coffee," he said. "Then you'll be able to think."

He started to pull his hand away from my shoulder. My body was suddenly moving, and my tired brain had no idea what was going on. My hand was on top of Steve's pressing his palm in to my shoulder. I wasn't pinning him down, but I wasn't letting him go, either. It was as if my body had acted on the muscle memory I'd gained during my years of training, only instead of grabbing him for a pain compliance hold, I was simply grabbing him to keep him from walking away. I had the words somewhere in my brain, the words that would fix this and make it so he didn't feel like I'd cast him out of my affections. I'd thought them earlier. Shit. What were they? Steve didn't try to pull away while I sat there in silence. He just looked at me, waiting, watching my face as whatever emotions I felt flew over my features. After a minute or so of me trying to find the right words and failing to do so, he started to slip his hand out from under mine.

"Drink your coffee, Dani. Whatever you're trying to think of can wait until later," he said.

His voice was soft and calm, with the edge of a smile to it so it came off more as a request than a demand or a form of chastising. My hand tightened on his, keeping him there while I shook my head. I could do this. I had to do this now before I forgot and fucked things up.

"No," I said. "No, I have to get this out now so I don't forget. Just…give me a second."

Steve stopped trying to pull away. Once again his eyes were upon me, expectant and interested. I didn't know what he was interested in. Was it my stubbornness? The fact that I wasn't letting him go? The fact that I was desperately trying to say something to him and refused to let it go or even drink brain juice before I spoke? I didn't know, but he was interested in something I was doing. Finally, the thought that I had earlier came back to me. Took it long enough. I smiled as a reward to myself for all of my hard work, then patted Steve's hand where it still rested on my shoulder.

"I got it," I said, that smile still in place. "It wasn't 'I love you' in the romantic sense, because that would be weird after the third day." I paused and said the next in a rapid near whisper. "S-second day after kissing." Back to my normal tone. "Uh, anyway, it was an appreciation 'I love you' because you brewed me coffee _and_ brought it to me without me even asking. And if that doesn't deserve an 'I love you,' then I don't know what does. Does that make sense?"

Steve smiled down at me, that sunlight trapped in a grin smile that warmed me to my toes. He shook his head a little, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, and squeezed my shoulder again. Blue eyes caught mine, and I realized that the sunlight wasn't just trapped in his smile. It was in his eyes, so they were once again shimmering like the ocean on a sunny day.

"It makes sense for now," he replied.

"I guess I can live with that," I said.

I took my hand off of his so he could go get coffee for himself. My brain had taken enough time to think about my explanation to Steve that my own coffee had started to cool in its mug. That was fine by me. As long as it didn't slip down to room temperature, it would be good. I took a sip of the coffee and damn near had a mini-orgasm. The first sip was always the best, especially when you sprang for the good stuff. I'd spent extra money on this particular brand, partly because it could be written off, and partly because I wanted Steve to have good food and drink while he was with me. I'd like to say I did that for all of my charges, but most of my charges were rich enough to buy the coffee company itself. Steve wasn't that rich. So, I did something nice for him in the form of buying good coffee rather than sewer swill. Plus, who the hell was I kidding? I got the coffee for me, too. The second my taste buds registered what was washing over them, my body entire body tightened in a spasm, my eyelids closing so my eyelashes could flutter at the tops of my cheeks. I let the coffee just sit there on my tongue for a moment before finally swallowing and going to take another sip. It was still warm, but it was cool enough that I could drink it all down in a few gulps and not burn my throat.

Steve came back from his trip to the kitchen to sit down on the far end of the couch, where he'd sat for Ghostbusters and the Star Wars trilogy, and sipped at his own bright mug of coffee. His mug was yellow, probably to prevent any coffee cup mix-ups. Good thinking. As I took yet another sip, I remembered that I'd been sprawled out on the couch not ten minutes before. Even when Steve had handed me coffee, my legs had been stretched over the cushions so no one else could sit down. Now I had my legs pulled tight against my chest, my wrists and coffee cup resting on top of my knees so my mouth had easy access to my mug. I honestly didn't remember moving. Had it been a subconscious way to pull in to myself while I thought about how to salvage the "I love you" situation? Or had it been a subconscious way to curl myself around good java? Eh, who knew? Not me. I wasn't even sure I entirely cared at this point. All that mattered was that the situation was handled, I wasn't hogging the couch so Steve had a place to sit, and I had coffee.

We both sat in silence as we drank our cups down. I think Steve was worried he'd make my head explode if he forced me to think too much, so he just didn't talk. I was fine with the silence because it allowed me to fully focus on the rich taste of my delicious drink. It also gave me time to think about what to do if we got another alert on Barnes. Most of the alerts seemed to happen in the afternoon. In fact, all of them, save the one from the Smithsonian, had happened in the afternoon. Maybe if Steve and I got dressed in our makeshift disguises right after we ate breakfast, we could shave some time off and get to Barnes faster when the alert came in. And if an alert didn't come in today, we could just go through the process again tomorrow. Yeah. I liked that idea. Except for the parts where I had to be girly. That, I didn't like.

Hey, I was back to thinking full, coherent sentences, which meant that the coffee was working. I could function again! Yay! But my coffee cup was empty. Not yay! My legs unfurled themselves from my body so I could plant my feet on the ground. More coffee. I needed more coffee.

"Are you awake now?" Steve asked as I made my way to the kitchen.

"Yes, I am. Thank you," I replied.

I set my mug on the counter and doctored it like I usually did, then poured myself a fresh cup of yum. I heard the couch move in a gentle rustle of fabric and audible release of tension before the sound of bare feet against wood floated to me ears. Steve was walking in to the kitchen. My mouth opened to ask if he wanted more coffee, but quickly snapped my jaw shut when his yellow mug went in to the sink. Guess he was good on coffee for the morning. Another question quickly popped in to my mind and slid to the tip of my tongue. Oh, yeah. The coffee was working.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

I picked up my mug and turned to look at him as he washed the cup out with dish soap and a sponge. Granny would love him just for that. She always told us that if we dirtied the dishes, we were the ones who got to wash the dishes. This led one teenage grandkid, cough cough, to buy paper plates and throwaway silverware. Yeah, I was a shithead when I was a teenager. Always tried to work my way around the lessons she was teaching me. Tried was the main word there. I never quite succeeded in not learning the lessons. Steve's voice broke me out of my thoughts, as it so often did. Maybe I could record his voice and set it as a five minute alarm so I didn't delve too deep in to my own mind. Or maybe I could not be fucking creepy.

"I am, actually," he replied. He looked over his shoulder at me, a spare glance that showed a teasing glimmer peeking out under long lashes. "Are you offering to cook?"

"No," I replied in to my mug. "I'm going to cook. There's no offer there. There's just doing. What are you hungry for?"

I tentatively sipped at my coffee. This time it was hot enough to burn my tongue, and I was being careful so as to avoid that. Steve finished rinsing his mug of soap and turned off the faucet. The yellow mug went in the drainer that was set next to the sink before he turned to give me the full weight of his gaze, and the full view of his body. He leaned his butt against the counter, letting his hands grip the granite in either side of his hips as he looked down at me. His gaze was considering, as if he were trying to think of what would work for his morning palate.

"What can you cook?" he asked.

I lowered the mug until it hovered just in front of my diaphragm and looked up in to those weighted blue eyes. I gave him as serious a face as I could as I said, "I am well-trained in using the waffle maker. I am exceptional in the art of French toast. I have been told that I scramble the eggs a little too hard, but I have had no other complaints in that area." I let that deadpan mask slip away and gave him a genuinely sweet smile. "Seriously, though, if you want it, I can probably make it."

Steve smiled back at me, and gave me a single nod. It was one of those deliberate nods, the ones that said "okay, I get it" without the person so much as twitching a lip.

"French toast and eggs with sausage sounds good," he said.

My lip did twitch at that. I lifted my mug to lips in an attempt to hide the blossoming smile. Apparently my brain was awake enough to make connections where there shouldn't be connections. I took another sip of the hot liquid, using it to keep me from laughing and to keep my smile hidden.

"Did I miss something?" Steve asked.

I looked up to find Steve's smile gone, replaced with sheer confusion. His brows pinched together so those little divots appeared just above the line of his nose. So much for hiding the smile. I swallowed the coffee and set my mug on the counter.

"Yes," I replied, "but a lot of people might have missed it."

"What did I miss?" he asked.

"Sausage. Eggs," I replied, as if those two words would suddenly clear everything up for him. Of course, it wouldn't. He was too moral to have a gutter mind, virgin or not. Well, if subtlety wasn't going to cut it, I'd have to go straight for blunt. I didn't go for my normal bluntness, which was, to say, being as blunt as a wooden spoon or a baseball bat, but I was blunt nonetheless. "It was a sexual innuendo. How much do you know about sexual reproduction?"

That caught him off guard. His eyes widened, surprise flooding his features. His eyebrows were no longer beetled together. No, now they were reaching for his blonde hairline. I was betting that was a question he'd never been asked before. Sometimes it was good to be someone's first. Whoop. Another innuendo.

"I know what they taught me in school," he replied.

I curled my top lip at that, the left corner of my cupid's bow pulling up while the right corner of my lips pulled down. It almost looked like a sneer of sorts, but it was a motion made up of more confusion and disappointment than disdain. He'd learned sex education in the thirties, which was notoriously skewed and not entirely scientifically correct. I was hoping it was enough for him to at least figure out the egg bit. He was smart. He'd get it eventually.

"Eh, I guess that should be enough for you to figure it out," I said.

"Figure what out?" he asked.

I dropped the near-sneer from my face and replaced it with a smile. My feet took me toward him, until I was standing in front of him with my hand on his bicep. I gently moved him away from the counter while he stared down at me, still utterly bewildered. I could get why he was bewildered, and it wasn't just because of the sexual innuendo. I was leading him away from the kitchen like he was a small child and Mommy needed her alone time. People usually didn't do that to grown men, let alone war heroes and planet savers. Nor did women usually do that to the men they found attractive. But there I was, leading him out of the kitchen like I was trying to save him from seeing something that was reserved for grownups. The whole thing reeked of "Go play with your toys, dear." I felt bad about that, but it didn't stop me. I had my own agenda: get him out of the kitchen so I could cook and so I didn't have to explain the details of my sexual innuendo.

"How about you go give it a think while you take a shower and get dressed in whatever disguise you plan to wear today?" I asked.

Well, it was more of a statement with a question mark at the end, but the asking bit still stood. Steve stopped in his tracks at the edge of the kitchen, looking down at me with a thousand questions flickering through his eyes. He went for the one question, or set of questions, that were the most important to him. Good to know he could shake off near-coddling and social confusion so he could focus on the important stuff. Just another reason to like him, I supposed.

"Disguise? Do you think Bucky will show up again?" he asked.

"I'd bet money on it," I replied. "And if we can save time by already being in disguise when he shows up, then we might be able to get to him faster."

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, that was all it took to get him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Good. Now I didn't have to explain dick and egg metaphors with breakfast foods.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Once Steve was up the stairs and I was alone on the bottom floor, I went for the remotes that were hidden behind the family photos. I grabbed one that was small, probably smaller than the length of Steve's entire hand, and black with white numbered buttons. There was nothing fancy about the remote, but it went to a pretty sweet stereo system that my father had insisted on buying Grandad. Yep, the old man got the best of the new technology. And now, with him not here, I got to use that technology to my advantage. I checked the CD changer, which could hold up to six CD's at a time, and found quite the diverse display. He had Aerosmith's _Permanent Vacation_ in the first slot, followed by Ninja Sex Party's _Attitude City_ , Def Leppard's _Hysteria,_ Avenged Sevenfold's self-titled album, and The Beatles' _A Hard Day's Night_. It was pretty safe to say that my Grandad had developed a strange taste in music due to a certain pair of granddaughters. I was betting he had an entire case filled with an eclectic assortment of music ranging from soft jazz, thanks to Katie, to metal and humor-based rock, thanks to me, and classic rock, thanks to himself. He was where I got my love of classic rock from. I was where he got his first taste of Ninja Sex Party, a band that had awesome, hilarious, insanely sexual songs. Granny hadn't liked the band, nor did she like the fact that I'd gotten Grandad hooked on music that she called "filth." Oh well!

After quickly deciding that the mix was a good one to cook to, I put the CD changer back in to the stereo system and turned it on. Ninja Sex Party's song "Road Trip" was the first thing to come blasting through the speakers. My body moved of its own volition, until I'd dropped the remote on the coffee table and was left dancing my way back to the kitchen. Well, it was more of a skipping shimmy since the breakdown hadn't happened yet, but I was still doing some version of dancing. I bounced on my feet as I got out the ingredients and utensils I needed, swaying my body in time to the beat of the drum and the rhythm of the lyrics. I even started lip synching to the song as I prepared the French toast. The most fun you will ever have while sprinkling cinnamon in to beaten eggs is when you do it in time to lyrics like "I banged ladesh." And that was exactly what I did. I sprinkled cinnamon in to egg; I did not bang ladesh.

Two egg-soaked bread slices were being put in a preheated pan by the time the song had ended. I placed four sausages in another pan during the break between songs, during the time when the machine was trying to figure out what it should shuffle to next. As I whipped up the eggs for the scrambled portion of the meal, Aerosmith's "Magic Touch" came on. It was the perfect song to work out to, or to give someone a lap dance to. It had a heavy drum beat that all but dared your heart to keep time, raspy vocals that cried out their need, and some seriously awesome guitar work. It was not the perfect song to cook to, especially when you couldn't keep your body from moving to the beat.

Thankfully, the whipped eggs went in to yet another pan to be sprinkled with salt and pepper before my body completely took over and I spilled yolk all over the floor. I grabbed a flat, metal, slotted spatula and started flipping food items as my hips, which lied just a little bit more than Shakira's did, started swaying from side to side in time to the music. Once again, my lips started mouthing the lyrics, and once those suckers, no pun intended, let loose, the rest of my body followed. I moved my arms and legs, my waist and hips, wriggling and writhing in time to the music like I was in a choreographed night club scene in some seedy movie. My free hand flowed over the front of my body as if I were offering some invisible kitchen ghost a promise of things of come. With sharp turns of my neck, I whipped my black locks around until I was certain they formed a dark halo around my head with very move. I was a fallen angel, so tainted by sex and violence that even my own halo had drained itself of golden purity.

The breakdown before the bridge gave me just enough time to flip sausage and toast, and check the eggs before I laid down a sick air guitar solo, using the spatula as my mini guitar. It was ridiculous, but gods, it felt good to let go. I let the memory of the dream slip away, I let the mission of finding Barnes fade to the background, and I even let my uncanny attraction for Steve push itself to the wayside so I could just be free for a few minutes. Then the bridge came, and I headbanged those things out of my head, tossing them out on to the floor so I could sexy dance on top of them. I let go completely, grinding my hips on to empty air, writhing like I was getting money thrown at me. I whipped my body around, hair flying, arms pounding out the drum beat of the last chorus. The lyrics signified their end with Steven Tyler spouting out raspy, unintelligible vocals that sounded like a mix between screaming and scat singing. The end of the song was nigh, and I was left to wind down with fading guitar riffs and drum beats.

The CD player whirred again as it shuffled to the next song, and I heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat. I whirled around to see Steve standing just inside the kitchen, blue eyes and a half smile leveled at me. He was wearing another pair of baggy jeans, ones that covered up how toned his legs were. The dark blue t-shirt he had on wasn't baggy at all, but I had a feeling he'd have to go in to quadruple X sizes for that happen. A grey zip-up hoodie was slipped on over the shirt, with the bottom portion already zipped up to his navel. Black boots adorned his feet, as usual. The plain blue baseball cap and canvas jacket from the previous day were laid over the back of the couch, ready to go when he was. But he wasn't ready to go anywhere right now. No, he seemed perfectly content to stand in the kitchen and try to not grin at me.

I knew my face held shock on it. It shouldn't have, because I should have known that it would take him all of two seconds to shower, but it held the emotion regardless of logic. I'd let go in the most provocative way possible while keeping my clothes on, and that little smile told me he'd seen at least part of it. I reeled in my shock just enough to not be completely awkward, and settled a hand on my hip as I stared up at him. My face slipped to a sort of embarrassment with a hint of indifference thrown in. I tried really hard to grab on to that indifference, to make it seem like I really didn't care if he caught me dancing like I belonged on a stripper pole, but I did care. Dammit, I cared. Shouldn't have. Totally did.

"How long were you standing there?" I asked, my voice surprisingly void of the embarrassment that threatened to force a blush over my cheeks.

Steve gave me a look, his eyes squinting just a little as that smile turned up a notch. "Do you really want to know?"

"No," I replied. "But tell me anyway?"

I made the last a request rather than an order. What was that saying? You caught more flies with honey than with vinegar? I already had this fly practically licking nectar from my lips, but even a hint of vinegar might make him pull away. I was back to that mindset of needing him to trust me, when deep in the back of my head I knew he already trusted me with his life and his affections. But hey, you can never be too careful. This time, I pulled myself out of my own thoughts just in time to see Steve miming playing a small air guitar. Son of a bitch! He'd seen that much?! He'd seen the worst part of the entire show! Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck balls! My face and shoulders fell, despondent from learning just what he'd seen.

"Awww, man," I groaned. "That long?"

I turned around as Steve finally let the smile bloom in to a full on grin, one that made him all the more handsome, one that made it impossible to be even mildly upset with him or anything else in the world. I wanted to kick myself in the ass for this one. If I got the full weight of that perfect smile, I'd just let the entire situation go. I couldn't do that. I had been unprofessional, and I had to deal with that. What was more, the guy I shouldn't be attracted to, who shouldn't be attracted to me, who also happened to be a virgin, had just seen me practicing sexy time dance routines to an audience of kitchenware. And trust me, it was enough to make even the Pope get a little hot and bothered. Therefore, I had to deal with the possibility that I'd gotten Steve's rocks off without meaning to. Dammit!

"It wasn't bad," Steve said. "It was pretty interesting."

I let out a deep, fake laugh, one that clearly said "yeah fuckin' right, shut up, and fuck you." Steve met the fake laugh with a real one, and I heard his boots carry him further in to the kitchen. I didn't turn around, as I was focusing on putting the French toast and scrambled eggs on a waiting plate. The sausages weren't quite done yet, so I made it my mission to keep an eye on them, even as Steve walked up to lean on the counter next to the stove. His arms folded over his chest, presumably so he wouldn't get his elbows in my way, and stared down at me.

"I'm serious. It was interesting to watch," he stated.

"Yeah, yeah. Tell no one what you saw here today," I said.

I shook the spatula at him as I said the last, but made sure I didn't look up at him. The last thing I wanted to see right now was exactly how interesting he found my impromptu dance session to be. I could still feel the weight of his gaze on me as I rolled the sausage links around in the pan, trying to get them evenly browned.

"Who am I going to tell?" he asked. "We're alone."

"We won't be here forever, Steve. Sooner or later, we'll be back at headquarters and you'll be chatting with your buddies. So I reiterate, tell no one," I replied, "or I'll beat you with this spatula."

I lifted the spatula to waggle back and forth over the sausage pan. Despite my words, the motion was meant to catch his eye rather than to be menacing. Not that spatulas were particularly menacing to grown humans anyway, even if the kitchen utensils were metal instead of plastic. And even if they weren't menacing to look at, those things could sting like hell if used properly, and could probably cut someone if the wielder of the utensil used enough force. Plus, threatening him with a seemingly nonthreatening weapon seemed better than straight up telling him I'd punch him in the throat. One was blunt, aggressive, and violent, and promised localized, possibly permanent, damage to a very sensitive area. The other was blunt, aggressive, and violent with implied minimal damage to a range of body parts both sensitive and not-so-sensitive. Implied minimal damage tends to not make people as upset with you as promised permanent damage does, and it's also much easier to turn in to a joke so people don't get too riled up. And as I suspected, despite the open threat to beat him with a metal spatula, Steve didn't seem fazed.

"You're going to come back here to get that spatula," his finger appeared in my vision to point at the item in my hand, "just so you can hit me with it for telling other people how well you can dance?"

Shit. Yeah, I'd fucked that one up. Sure, Dani, tell him we'll leave here, and then tell him if he tells anyone he knows about your dancing that you'll beat him with your grandparents' spatula. Because that works as a threat. Oi fuckin' vey with this bullshit.

"No," I said, my lips almost pulling in to a sneer as I said it. I hated it when my logic failed me. "I'll just use the one I have at my house and beat you with that one."

He was silent for a moment, and I actually thought that he might be taking my threat seriously. And then he broke the silence and I was proven thoroughly wrong. I should have known better, though. Spatulas weren't menacing, especially to someone who'd faced Nazi hordes and entire bases filled with Hydra agents. Oh, and that Red Skull Johann Schmidt. Yeah, spatulas weren't menacing when you could fend off all of that other douchery.

"Why don't you want me telling people that you can dance?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious while completely ignoring my threat.

I fought to not steal a glance up at him. In that moment, I wanted to see his face, wanted to see what lay behind his curiosity and lack of fear of my kitchenware. A part of my brain screamed at me to keep my eyes on the sausages that were in the pan, partly so the food didn't burn and partly so I didn't have to see the unfavorable opinion that may have lurked under the seafoam that was his inquisitiveness. It wasn't that I didn't want him telling people that I could dance. It was that I didn't want him to talk about the kind of dancing I'd been doing. He didn't quite seem to grasp what the kind of dancing I'd performed meant. I didn't want to see his face while explained it to him, so my eyes stayed glued to the sizzling pan. The sausages were almost done.

"Because that wasn't the kind of dancing you brag about. That was a stripper's routine with the clothes kept on. That kind of dancing is meant to be provocative so you can get laid. I don't want anyone on base to think I want to get laid," I replied.

"Tannen," he said.

He said the name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth while realization dawned on him. I hadn't quite expected that bitter tone from Steve. Perhaps it was because he'd seen the misogynistic pig that Tannen was. Or, maybe, that tone came from a hint of disdain that someone would treat me like I was nothing more than a walking vagina. Maybe it was Steve's protectiveness for me kicking in. Or maybe I was thinking too highly of myself and he just didn't like Tannen or people similar to Tannen. Whatever the reason for the bitterness, at least he understood why he shouldn't go telling everyone about my dance moves. Not that he would anyway, even if I hadn't explained why. He was a good guy with high morals, so if I told or asked him not to blab about my kitchen dancing, he'd respect me enough to follow my wishes. That was nice.

"Tannen," I agreed with a nod. "And every other male agent I work with. The second they think I'm promiscuous, even if it's just because of how I dance, my credibility to do anything goes out the window and I become a walking sex toy. They'll think I just fucked my way to greatness, and then I'll have to start proving myself all over again. I did my time proving that I was one of the guys, but if one splinter falls out of that woodwork, all my hard work goes to shit."

Once again, he was silent, as if contemplating my words. He was silent for long enough that I wanted to look up at him and watch his face as he rolled my logic around in his mind. I didn't, but I wanted to. I knew he'd find my logic sound so there was no need to look up at him to confirm my thoughts. He was from the forties, when women had to fight to be seen as humans, let alone heard as intellectuals or viewed as hardasses. He'd fallen for Peggy Carter, who, from her files, had been just as tough as any of the men she'd worked with. She didn't give an inch, because if she did, she'd have been given hell from literally everyone around her. She proved herself to new recruits, and that was about it. Everyone else knew she wasn't just a skirt, that she had a sharp mind and a strong will and one hell of an aim. She was a soldier who just happened to be female, but if she was seen as a female over being a soldier, she would have been ruined. Some things just didn't change. Steve seemed to get that, to the point that he turned the subject around and made it in to something else.

"Can you do any other dancing?" he asked. "Dancing that's not promiscuous?"

My eyes stayed firmly on the sausages as he asked his question. They were finally done. Hooray! I shrugged as I turned off the burner that the sausages were on. The moment I lifted the pan away from the stove, Steve had started moving away, giving me room to maneuver so I could put the food on his plate without risking third degree burns to either of our bodies.

"Yeah," I said. "I can do simple stuff. Nothing fancy."

"Like what?" he asked.

I slid the sausages on his plate and returned the pan to the stove so it could cool off. The spatula went in the sink, and I was left with nothing to distract my eyes with. Crossing my arms over my chest, I turned to look at him. He looked as curious as he sounded, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. It looked like hope. But why would he be hopeful about my dancing skills? I pushed the question to the back of my mind and shrugged again.

"Some basic ballroom steps. Like the triple step from side to side, the basic box step for waltzing, the uh…the basic simple steps that you usually see in a middle school dance. That side to side step thing that turns you in a circle. That kind of stuff," I explained.

Something flitted across his face, some emotion, some feeling, I hadn't expected to see from him. It was shyness. His eyes flickered down to the floor, as if he couldn't bear to look at me, and this sheepish little smile tugged at his lips, as if he were using a smile to hide his nervousness. I squinted at him, wondering what the hell had made him go from quizzical to bashful in the span of a second. This was the same man who'd put the moves on me first, who'd kissed me first, who'd taken it upon himself to crawl in to bed with me last night so I wouldn't have nightmares, who'd just watched me dance like I was having sex with the air, and now he was suddenly shy. What was that all about? I didn't have much time to wonder, because the shyness left almost as soon as it came, and he stared down at me with that serious, questioning gaze of his.

"Do you think you could teach me how to dance?" he asked.

I tilted my head to one side, like a bird who had just seen something interesting. Was he shy because he didn't know how to dance, or because he was asking me for lessons? How often did he ask people to teach him things? I frowned at him as the questions fluttered around my brain like butterflies, as I tried to figure out why dance lessons would be something to be nervous about. Apparently, he took the frown the wrong way, because his eyes darkened with disappointment. Well, I guess frowns usually did mean "no," or that there was some serious reluctance. I fought my face until it was neutral before I answered with yet another shrug of my shoulders. Man, I was doing that a lot this morning.

"Sure," I said. "I'm not sure how good of a teacher I'll be, but I can certainly try to teach you how to dance. We can use my grandpa's man cave for our dance hall. He has a ton of room down there."

Steve's eyes brightened again, happiness suddenly overtaking him with my affirmation that I'd give him dance lessons. I still didn't understand what the big deal was, but I didn't really need to, did I? He wanted to learn how to dance, I could teach him, and he was happy about it. What was there to understand beyond that? Probably a lot, but nothing that I was willing to pry about. Besides, how do you ask someone why they are so excited about learning how to dance without coming off as rude? As far as I knew, you didn't. At least I didn't. Sometimes it seemed like rudeness was just inherent in me.

Steve stepped forward suddenly, drawing me out of my thoughts. Before I really knew what was going on, he'd leaned down, getting close enough for me to kiss him, or for him to kiss me. I actually thought that was what he was going to do, when he suddenly tilted his body so he could plant a gentle kiss on my right cheek. He pulled away with a smile on his face, one that held a hint of that warm sunlight, one that told me he was truly happy with me and my agreement to help him dance.

"Thank you," he said.

I may have been confused as all hell, but in the wake of that smile, I couldn't help but feel joyous. I smiled back up at him, one of my genuine ones that could stop people in their tracks. My left hand went to his cheek as I lifted myself on my toes and pulled him down to me. Cheek kisses were nice and all, but I wanted to touch his lips. And I did. I pulled him down to me, both of our smiles still in place, and pressed a soft peck to his full lips.

"You're welcome," I replied.

I lowered myself back down, sliding my hand down the smooth skin of his neck as I planted my heels on the floor. My hand kept moving until it rested, oh so lightly, on the side of his arm so the heel of my hand brushed the swell of his bicep.

"Now," I said, "eat, so we can start the lesson."

Steve gave a small, breathy chuckle as I pulled my hand away. The chuckle, as well as his smile, faded around the edges as he looked at the counter, where only one plate of food rested on the granite. The smile was gone by the time he looked back at me, replaced with confusion and a little bit of worry.

"Are you going to eat?" he asked, his eyebrows pinching together over those worried blue depths.

"Nope," I replied, keeping my smile in place. "Coffee is my breakfast. Now chow down. We have work to do."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

My coffee cup and I left Steve on the first floor to finish his breakfast while I got ready for the day. I gathered all of my clothing and makeup supplies and dragged them in to the bathroom so I could use them after my shower. The shower was as quick as I could make it, which wasn't particularly quick when I had to shampoo and condition my hair, wash my body, and shave my legs. If I didn't have to shave, I'd have been able to knock off ten full minutes from my shower time, but alas, I had to blend in, so the dark stubble had to go. Sometimes being a girl sucked. Once I was out of the shower, with my hair and body wrapped in towels like I was some strange version linen royalty, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and started working on my makeup. It was literally the same makeup from the day before, a matte crimson lip that drew attention to my mouth and a thin line of winged liquid eyeliner that emphasized the slight up-tilt to my eyes. A few coats of mascara and a swipe of blush later, and my makeup was done. If you ignored the towel crown on my head and focused solely on my face, I looked like I'd stepped straight out of the forties or fifties.

And there it was. My day's inspiration. A lot of people these days liked to go for the vintage look, with pronounced waves and rolls of hair stuck to the top of their head with hairspray. They even went for the pin-up style dresses that were so popular during World War II. Now, I didn't have one of those, nor was I ever going to wear one of those in public, but the hair, I could do. I wasn't going to do victory rolls, the hairstyle where you literally had rolls of hair on top of your head, because I wouldn't be able to blend in with those, but there were far more subtle styles that I could get away with. I took the towel down and set myself to work blow drying and styling my hair within an inch of its life. It took me a while, because I had a lot of hair, but eventually I had myself looking like I'd literally stepped out of Steve's time period.

I'd mussed my hair with mousse to give it more volume and wave, then parted my hair on the right and swept the fall of black hair to the left. I used some small curlers to give my hair a bit more of the forties look, then I shaped the locks in to makeshift bangs that arched over the center of my forehead and fell back against my temple with an artfully crafted swoosh of hair. I pinned the new bangs in place with bobby pins and let the rest of my hair cover it while I almost doused the follicles in hairspray. Mousse could only get you so far sometimes. I gave the bangs a once over in the mirror, and had the thought that I vaguely reminded myself of a realistic version of Ariel from The Little Mermaid. You know, if she had black hair and didn't swim all damn day. The thought flitted away as I kept on working, effectively making myself look more like Judy Garland than Ariel.

On the right side of my head, I swept the hair sway from my temple, twisted it towards my scalp, and pinned it tight to the side of my head, just behind the top of my ear. I gave it a spritz of hairspray just to keep it in place while I worked on the rest of my hair. This was the easier part. I just needed a large curling iron or a set of large curlers. I went with the curling iron, seeing as how it should have been easier to manipulate my hair while I styled it with heat. I was right, and in the end, I had large ringlet curls framing my chin and brushing my shoulder blades. I made certain that they blended in to each other instead of being five or six massive ringlets, then doused the whole of my head in hairspray to hold everything.

Cool. My hair was ready. But, none of the clothes I'd brought in to the bathroom with me worked with the theme I was going for. Shit! I gathered everything I'd brought in to the bathroom in to my arms and skittered back across the hallway to my room. With the door shut securely behind me, I started searching for what I could wear. It had to at least look like it was inspired by the forties, but it also had to work as an undercover outfit, _and_ I had to be able to fight in it and hide weapons. This was why mercenaries never wore skirts, dammit!

After a good amount of searching, I finally settled on a low cut, button up shirt with three-quarter sleeves that was the color of plums. It was a medium color, caught between light and dark, with clear undertones of red in the midst of all that purple. It seemed almost vibrant against the black skirt I'd worn the day before, as if it being so close to a truly dark color made it seem lighter and brighter. I had the shorts on under the skirt, as I had the day before, as well as two thigh holsters for my gun, backup ammo, and a knife. A big, thick-banded black belt went around my waist, cinching me in and making my already small middle seem even smaller. The shirt and skirt seemed to flow around the belt, which was perfect for hiding knives. A gun would have been too bulky and would have ruined the line of the belt, but a thin knife and sheath was easy to conceal. The boots from the day before went on my feet, and I was all set to go.

I made my way down the stairs to find Steve sitting on the love seat with a thoroughly confused, and partially disgusted, look on his face. Ninja Sex Party's song "Dragon Slayer" was blasting through the speakers. It took me way longer than it should have to remember that I'd turned on the music. I'd completely tuned it out once I'd realized that Steve had been watching me dance like stripper that was desperate for tips, so I'd forgotten to turn the stereo off before I went upstairs. Somehow I didn't think "whoops" covered this one. I'd left him to bask in the glow of decades of differing music styles, all of which were probably a little too impure for him. Granted, The Beatles didn't seem impure to me, but I had no idea how he'd feel about them. I knew for certain that "Dragon Slayer" was leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

"Sorry about that," I said as I bounded down the last few steps. "I completely forgot I had the stereo on."

My shoes rapidly clicked over the hardwood floor as I quickly rounded the couch and grabbed the stereo remote. Hey, speaking of the remote, why hadn't he just turned the stereo off? Why had he just sat there for a good forty-five minutes listening to music he didn't seem to like? Eh, I'd ask him in a second. I clicked the "Off" button on the remote and cut Danny Sexbang off in the middle of talking about his space mansion.

"So this wasn't a form of torture?" Steve asked from the love seat.

That got a laugh from me. "No," I chuckled, turning to him with the remote in my hand. I waggled the little plastic rectangle in his direction as a grin graced my lips. "It's not torture if you can turn it off, you weirdo."

I laughed again, this time to myself, as I turned away to place the remote behind the wall of photo frames. I shook my head, letting those carefully crafted curls brush over the fabric of my shirt as I muttered under my breath.

"Freak."

"I didn't want to fiddle with something that wasn't mine," Steve replied.

His voice sounded a little off, a little unlike how it had been before. I didn't know why he sounded different, and I certainly couldn't put my finger on how he sounded different, but something in his tone had changed. I tried to ignore the subtle shift in his tone and focused on what I could put my finger on. Metaphorically, at least. I turned to give him a disbelieving look, and finally found what had made his tone change. He was standing, his back as straight as a board, as if he were trying to gather himself. It seemed he hadn't had the time to gather his emotions, yet, so they were splayed across his face more surely than they were on his body. It was this look of awe, of passion, of holding himself back. It was like he was looking at some lost treasure that he knew he shouldn't touch, lest it all turn to lava and burn him alive. And, gods help me, I was the treasure. His eyes were locked on me.

I fought to not squirm under that gaze, the one that made it seem like he was seeing the sun for the first time in decades. I reminded myself of who I was. I was a hardass government agent with mutant abilities and one hell of a mean streak. I did not squirm. Even if I wanted to, even if the person in front of me made me want to strip all of my inhibitions away, I did not squirm. My eyes met his, holding on to the disbelief I'd started with like it was the only thing that would keep me from melting in to a puddle on the floor.

"You had no problem with wanting to turn on the television," I pointed out. My voice didn't hold even a hint of the other emotions that rattled around in my body. I was all logic and reason and pointing out how silly he was being. Go me.

His face crumbled in to a smile, and a laugh so gentle it was like a breath broke free from his lips. His shoulders slumped a little, as if he'd released some of his tension into that single chuckle. He looked up at me, all boyish mischief and humor, and gave me a little nod.

"No, I didn't," he acquiesced, "but I learn from my mistakes, and I learn fast."

"Oh, good," I said, making my way over to stand in front of him.

Now that he didn't look like he was staring at the sun, I felt much more comfortable being close to him. Man, I had issues. Didn't most women like it when the men they were interested in looked at them like they were goddesses? Or was that all just total bullshit? Either way, I felt better being close to him when he wasn't looking at me like I was his goddess. It made it a lot easier to not want to touch him. Yes, even after kissing him and waking up in bed with him and having this weird Zeus-Connection, I still had hang ups about our entire situation.

"I guess that means you'll only step on my feet two times. Three, maybe?" I continued.

And, just like that, I'd lost him. The boyish humor was suddenly gone as his eyebrows pinched together over confused blue orbs.

"Why would I step on your feet?" he asked.

Holy shit. He'd forgotten about the dancing lessons already?! I knew my cooking wasn't good enough to cause amnesia, and I damn well knew that I didn't look good enough to cause that, hopefully, momentary lapse in memory. Maybe he'd gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of Aerosmith and Avenged Sevenfold that he'd accidentally pushed the thought of dancing out of his mind. Yeah. That had to be it. I frowned up at him, pursing my lips together in displeasure.

"You may _be_ ninety, but you still have the brain of someone under thirty. It is way too early for you to be getting dementia, sweetheart. Did you seriously forget about dance lessons?" I asked.

For a split second, a sheepish look fluttered across his features before giving way to purely faked confusion. He had forgotten. What was more, he seemed to know exactly why he'd forgotten, but he really didn't want me to be in on that little tidbit of information, so he was pretending like he didn't know what had caused him to be so forgetful. I could throw a few wild guesses out there, but there was only one I could think of that would stick like it was super glue. It was a guess that I didn't want to think about. So, I let him be a bad liar, rolled my eyes, and grabbed his large hand.

"Good grief, Charlie Brown," I muttered as I led him around the couch.

"Who's Charlie Brown?" he asked. "And where are we going?"

I let go of Steve's hand so I could unlock the numerous deadbolts on the French doors without fumbling like a moron.

"Charlie Brown is a character from the Peanuts comic strip. One of his most famous lines is 'good grief.' And we're going to my grandpa's man cave. It has tons of records to dance to and a load of floor space so we don't bump in to anything. And before you ask, we're going outside because the only way to get in to his man cave is to go through the cellar doors because the idiot architect didn't think to add a set of stairs leading in to the house," I replied.

Steve seemed to accept that, and I could almost feel him nod as I got the last lock open.

Me being me, which means me being stupid, I'd forgotten that my grandfather kept the key to the cellar locked in the shed, which itself was locked. Steve and I ended up going back in to the house so I could get the shed key and so he could get the laptop. Apparently, two cups of coffee hadn't been enough for me that morning because I was still partially brain dead.

Once I'd gone through the headache of getting the cellar key and unlocking the weather eroded wooden doors, Steve and I headed in to the underground of the house. There was enough daylight for us to see about halfway down the staircase, but I flipped the switch at the top of the stairs anyway. Better safe than sorry, I like to say. It'd suck to take a tumble down a flight of stairs because I was being too stupid to turn on a light. Plus, that would just be embarrassing. I could imagine the pinwheel of legs and arms already as I, a trained agent and bodyguard, went bouncing in to the darkness of the cellar. Just the thought of it made my ears hot with a blush. Actually falling would be far less graceful than my imagination made it out to be, and would therefore be far more embarrassing. So, I flipped the switch at the top of the stairs and didn't doing a tumbling act in front of my charge.

I led the way down the stairs, with Steve and the laptop at my back, and hit the second light switch at the bottom of the stairs that lit up the underground room. The room was modeled after the bar where my grandparents met in the 1950's, and was all light wood. A bar, an actual fully stocked bar, was set in the middle of the room, and was so long that it almost acted like a wall that divided one side of the room from the other. Its backboard was a long mirror that reflected both the bottles on its mantle as well as the ghostly patrons that would have sat on the red velvet cushioned barstools. Cupboards lined the sides of the backboard like a frame, with the cupboards closest to the stairs jutting out until it met the front the bar. Both cupboards ran only a few bottles deep, but the one closest to us was a ploy, a trick for the person first entering the bar to make them think that one was deeper than the other. In reality, there were several shelves nestled in to the carved out hollow where bottles would have been hidden if the cupboard had been so big. They were set back far in the wood, so they, too, could go several bottles deep. The only way to tell how deep would be to sit at the end of the bar or be the bartender. The second cupboard was practically hidden when compared to its counterpart. It was set in with the backboard, settled so deep that one might think it was just a panel if it hadn't had a hooked knob jutting out from it. The end of the bar was open so that the bartender could get in and out easily, and without having to lift or open any sort of door mechanism. When I'd asked Grandad if that had been in the original bar layout, he told me it hadn't been. He'd nixed the lifting door from the original bar because he didn't want to have to work to get to his booze. It was his house, and he wanted his liquor on command, and no flappy door would get in his way. Oh, and the original bar hadn't had velvet on their seats.

There was one table and set of chairs set in the corner across from the stairwell. It was a replica of the table my grandparents had shared the first night at the bar, and the one they grabbed each night after. It was nothing particularly special. Just a round, light wood table that matched the bar. A minimal amount of curling, decorative carving around the single table leg and the high polish of the wood was all that made it look like it might cost a pretty penny or two if you purchased it from a store. The two chairs were straight backed, light wood with red velvet cushions for you to sit on. They weren't much more ornate than the table, and had four vertical pieces of wood, minus the two supporting sides, and a single horizontal piece at the top that made up the back of it. They, like the table and the bar, were polished to the point of perfection.

To the right of the table, settled up against the wall, was a perfect reproduction of a phonograph record player from the era, with its large, golden, flower shaped horn aimed toward the wall beyond the bar. It followed the light wood theme, with little touches of black here and there to set it apart from the rest of the space. It sat on a sturdy, four legged stand, which was just as ornately carved as the table and chairs. The stand was tall enough that it would hit Steve at the hips, and the colors of the stand and the phonograph were so close that you almost couldn't tell where the instrument ended and the furniture began. It seemed like the record player had been carved out of the stand itself. Three boxes of records sat around the legs of the table, ready to be used whenever their maestro deemed it necessary.

On the other side of the bar, where Steve and I wouldn't be going, was my grandfather's private library, complete with a big, puffy leather chair. That chair probably still had a whoopee cushion stuffed in it from when Katie and I were kids trying to prank their prankster grandfather. He'd gotten a good laugh out of it, but he'd decreed that no one was allowed in that section of the house without his explicit permission first. Unless you were Granny, because Granny stashed some of her books down here, too. If you really thought about it, Grandad's mancave sucked at being a mancave. He'd modeled it after the place he'd met and first started dating his wife, and his wife had some of her stuff down here. You could argue that the bar scheme was him trying to go back in time to before he met her, and that the table was a reminder that he could have never sat there with her, but the fact that his library doubled as an extension of her own meant that this was no mancave. It was an homage to their young love, a place where they could come to relive the first time they saw each other. It was the shittiest mancave in the history of mancaves, but it worked for my purposes.

I lead Steve in to the room and headed for the boxes beneath the phonograph. I opened my mouth to tell Steve to set the laptop on the table, but was quickly cut off by the sound of him doing just that. He stood only a few feet behind me when the first sounds of awe escaped his lips.

"Wow," he muttered.

I was already kneeling in front of the boxes, the fabric of my skirt brushing the floor, when he spoke. I turned away from the unopened boxes to look up at the man out of time. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me that this place might stir up some sort of emotion for him, but it hadn't. I had just been thinking that this was the only place in the house to give a proper dance lesson, and that the only good dance music we had was on vinyl. The room was large and the floor was clean of clutter, and the phonograph down here was the only record player in the house. I honestly hadn't thought that a room modeled after a bar built in the 1940's would make Steve feel something. And it sure as hell made him feel something.

He was looking around the room, his shoulders set low, as if the pain of being out of time hadn't hit him yet. His face, or what I could see of it since he was partially turned away from me, held awe. If I could bet money on something, I would have bet money that he'd thought he'd stepped back in time. Even the light fixtures were reminiscent of the ones in the old bar. The only thing that was missing was more tables, a ton of patrons, and a live band. He walked over to the bar, gazing over it as if it were bringing up old memories. The set of his shoulders changed, the swell of muscles rising higher with new found tension. I stood, pushing myself away from the record boxes and the phonograph, readying myself for if he needed someone to comfort him. He turned to look at the single table, the one that I stood so close to, and there was pain and remembrance clear on his face. For a long moment, it was almost as if he didn't see me, almost as if he'd been transported back in time to rewatch bits and pieces of his life.

His eyes shifted toward me and he blinked, and suddenly it was like I was a part of his past. It was like he'd placed me in that far away bar, putting me in the part of the beautiful wallflower who just stepped out of the shadows to show everyone what true elegance looked like. Bit by bit, the pain melted away until I was left to bask in the glow of his innocent, almost appreciative smile. Appreciative of what, I couldn't say.

"You like it?" I asked, taking a slow step toward him.

"Yes, I do. It reminds me of a bar I went to when I was in the war. This looks completely different," he chuckled then, "but it reminds me of the old bar."

I aimed a sweet smile at him, letting it almost match the warmth of his own. There was a touch more heat in my smile, so it was more like the summer sun peeking through clouds than the spring sun shimmering through a tree's canopy.

"Funny that you should say that," I said, taking another step closer to him. "My grandfather actually modeled this after the bar he and my grandmother met in during the fifties. Everything is an exact replica, or close to it. Even the phonograph is an exact replica."

His attention shifted again, and this time he was staring at the phonograph. He took a step forward, then paused, as if he were rethinking his decision to do whatever it was he was going to do. One hand gestured toward the music player as he lifted his eyebrows at me.

"May I touch it?" he asked.

I replied with a nod and a shrug, a silent yes and why-not all in one, and moved out of his way so he could get closer to a part of the past. He made his way over to the phonograph, leaving me to stand a few feet behind him while his fingers delicately played over the curves and corners of the player.

"Grandad said that they used the phonograph when they didn't have a band playing," I explained. "He and Granny would go to the bar early in the day, when there weren't that many people there, so they could dance to the phonograph without a lot of background noise to ruin the moment."

Steve didn't respond to my story. Not so much as a muscle twitch told me that he was listening. But he was Mr. Morals, so I highly doubted he'd tuned me out, at least not on purpose. Regardless, his silence and my sudden lack of explaining my grandparents' courtship rituals gave me the feeling that we were wasting time. He could look around while we were dancing. Not like there was much to see on this side of the room anyway. I walked away from him, scouting the perfect start point for our dance practice while Steve kept reminiscing over long lost days. Thankfully, I'm not entirely mean, so I broke him of his time travelling gently.

"I'm not really familiar with the albums Grandad has, but maybe you are. Could you please find us a slow song? Don't start the phonograph, though. Just put the record on and join me over here," I requested.

With a stiff nod, Steve started rifling through the albums. I set myself in the middle of the empty floor, my back to the bar so I could see Steve and the stairs at any given moment. My hands smoothed over my skirt in a nervous gesture and I desperately tried to keep them from fidgeting with my overly-groomed hair while Steve took his sweet time finding a record. This entire thing made me feel all sorts of wrong. Yes, I was back to evaluating my feelings for him, and even my actions toward him. For good reason, too. He was a charge. I was a federal agent. Our mission was to find his friend and part ways and not end up boning each other. Even teaching him how to dance could be pushing the limits of professionalism and what could end up being a romantic relationship. I needed to stop putting us both in situations where we might end up touching or kissing. I needed to stop touching him and kissing him. Gods, I needed to stop fucking kissing him! It was time for me to reign my emotions back in before they got me in trouble. I knew what I felt when I touched him wasn't due to some bullshit soulmate story. It was lust for an attractive man who happened to have bravery, morality, and intelligence to spare. That was it. I was going to resolve to no longer let myself pine for him. I couldn't allow myself to be so attracted to him. I had to put a stop to all of this romantic nonsense. But how?

"You're going to ruin your lipstick," Steve said.

With a deep frown and a wave of my hand, I dismissed him. "No, I won't. This shit's basically glue."

Confusion caught me and I blinked, finding that I was very intently staring at the baseboard of the wall across from me. It took me what felt like another long second to turn in the direction of Steve's voice, finding him mere feet away with a look of almost pleased confusion on his face. How he managed to look both pleased and confused at the same time was beyond me. I blinked again and let a frown distort my face in confusion.

"I'm sorry. What happened?" I asked.

"You were chewing on your bottom lip," he replied as he stepped forward.

"Yeah, well, that happens sometimes," I shrugged.

I turned to face him so we would be in the right position for dancing. You can't dance a waltz when one person is facing the wall.

"Like when you're nervous?" he asked.

Only the lilt on the end of the sentence made it a question rather than a statement. Bless him, he was trying to not pry. I wouldn't blame him if he did pry, seeing as I'd been all over the map with my emotions. I was surprised he hadn't called me a human roller coaster and walked away. I was thankful he'd stayed, because I couldn't exactly guard him if he wasn't near me. I was even more thankful that he didn't pry. I was angry with myself, with how I was handling this whole situation, and I tended to direct my anger at others if I wasn't careful. He really didn't deserve Bitch Dani just because he was worried about my ever changing emotional state.

"No," I said, keeping the defensiveness out of my tone. See? Anger already. "Like when I'm thinking too hard. Give me your hand."

I held my hand out to him, my palm facing the ceiling. Seeing that I was changing the subject to what he'd wanted in the first place, Steve slipped his hand in mine. With a quick movement, I adjusted my hand in his until my palm was securely pressed against his, my fingers curling around the back of his hand. He mimicked my motions, his fingers wrapping around the back of my hand until it almost looked like his larger hand was cupping my smaller one. Without a word, I took his left hand and placed it squarely under my shoulder blade.

"Keep your hand there," I stated, looking up at him from a foot away. "And make sure you don't let your arm drop or go limp. This arm-" I gestured with our enclosed hands "-should make an upside down V with mine. Keep your elbow out, and your arm up. And keep some distance between us so you can see your feet if you need to."

He didn't say anything as my free hand went to curl around the top of his admittedly impressive bicep. I lifted my arm up to hover a hair above his, making sure our arms had the illusion of touching without me actually putting any weight on him. I straightened my spine and pushed my shoulders back.

"Stand up straight," I ordered, "and keep your shoulders back and your feet together, like you're standing at attention."

He did as I instructed, moving his body seamlessly in to a stance he'd come to know all too well from his military service.

"We're going to start on this foot," I said, jiggling my right foot to get his attention. "I'm going to step back with that foot, and you're going to step forward. Then we're going to step to the right, and then bring our other foot in to go back to attention. Then I step back, we step left, then close, and attention. Got it?"

Steve's eyebrows pinched over his blue eyes as he took in the information. After a moment's hesitation, he shook his head.

"No," he replied, looking utterly lost. "Can you go over that one more time?"

Well, I officially sucked as a dance instructor. Maybe I should have just pulled up a video online and let him learn that way. Wait! What the hell was I thinking, playing a video? He had me right in front of him. Good gods, I was a dumbass sometimes! The scoff in my own head was as loud as if it had come from my throat. Video. What a load of horseshit.

"Sure," I said. "Let me show you. It's easier that way."

I took my hand out of his and, knowing my intentions, Steve's other hand fell away from my back. I put myself to Steve's left side, leaving enough room between us that he could see what I was doing while I kept from bumping in to him.

"We're going to do this to a three count. So I'm going to count one, two, three, and we'll move on each number," I started. "Alright, so for your part, this is what you'll do."

I lifted my arms as if I were in the leading position, keeping my back straight and shoulders back like I'd told him.

"You'll start with your feet together, at attention. On one, you'll step forward with your left foot. On two, you'll step to the right with your right foot, and on three you'll bring your left foot in to stand at attention again," I explained. I moved as I spoke, slowly acting out his part as he intently watched my feet. "Then it's your turn to step back. On one, your right leg goes back. Two, you step to the left with your left foot, and three, you bring your right foot in to stand at attention. Then repeat. And make sure you're light on your feet, never fully settling because this is supposed to look smooth, like one unending motion. If you look like you're dancing in one of Stark's suits, you're doing it wrong. Basically, you want to step lightly enough to sneak up on someone, and firmly enough to not bust your ass."

Steve gave me a chuckle at my little quip. "Got it."

I cracked a smile for him before settling back in to teacher mode. "Now we put it all together, and one, two, three…"

I added all of the two components I'd taught him so far and glided in a tight little square around my portion of the floor. To my right, Steve moved, stepping in to my view as I started his part over again. My pace was slow so he could take it all in completely and fully process his part. It was when he stepped forward like he was going to insert himself in to the dance that I stopped. A look of almost hurt confusion flitted over his face before it settled in to just plain confusion, his favorite emotion. I gave him a warm smile, letting him know I wasn't rejecting his advances, even though I was. He had seemed a little too eager to get under my hands, and dammit, I was trying to not be some Captain America groupie! Well, I was at least trying to be professional. Damn it all, I was trying to not get emotionally attached. There.

"Nice try, Rogers," I said, my reassuring smile still in place, "but you can't start from the middle, and you're the lead in this thing. Not me. Back to where you were."

The confusion melted away, and with a soft shake of his head, he stepped back to where he had started. Looked like I'd done a pretty good job of lying to him about my intentions. Good to know I wasn't complete shit as a spy. As a human being was another matter altogether. Jerking him around like this wasn't fair.

"I didn't know there was a lead," he said in an almost boyish confession.

"Of course you didn't," I replied. I settled myself in front of him, placing his hands where they needed to go on my body in order for the dance to look right. "You can't know something you haven't been told. So, you're leading. Now, keep your grip up here, firm, but soft. You want to keep a hold of me, but you want to look graceful about it, not overpowering. Remember, your feet should be light and your motions should be fluid. Now, we'll try this with no music first, then once you're ready, I'll turn on the phonograph. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds great," Steve replied with a smile.

"Good. On one."

I bobbed my head three times slowly, silently letting him know that I was building up to our dance's beginning, and when I took a breath, he seemed to draw himself straighter. Each soft utterance of a number from my mouth found us moving. His steps were heavy at first, almost jarring in their intensity as he wasn't used to this whole thing yet. I worked him through it, softly muttering "Stark suit" in between numbers when he got too rough. Amazingly, he didn't step on my feet, which garnered him some massive points. After a few long rounds, his steps finally got lighter, something in his head finally finding the smooth rhythms he used when he was sneaking up on bad guys and applying it to the motions of our feet. He was a fast learner, and it shocked me when he went straight to the next waltz step without another lesson from me. He suddenly turned away from me, his hand in mine bringing him that couple of inches with him to make a slight turn, while his hand on my shoulder blade pressed in to signal that we were going to do another slight turn just before he gently pulled me in to it. I was no longer counting, and I couldn't remember when I'd stopped. He did it again, pulling me in to another turn until we were back at our starting point and he brought us to a careful stop.

Shocked, I stared up at him, a small but careful smile on my face. Where had he learned to do that?

"I thought you said you don't know how to dance," I said.

Steve looked down at me, a small but confused smile on his face. Our hands were still locked on each other, and I was actively trying to ignore the strange tingle of feeling his skin on mine brought. During the dance, the tingle was soothing, as it had been since the first time I'd touched him. Now it was both soothing and incredibly distracting. I wanted answers to this particular puzzle, and I didn't need tingles getting in the way of my concentration. Why didn't I need to concentrate on dancing? Because I knew it by heart, and you don't concentrate on things you know by heart.

"I don't," he said. "Or I didn't until you taught me."

"I only taught you one step. You did a second waltz step all on your own, and you did it perfectly. How?"

Steve's eyebrows pinched at that, as if it hadn't occurred to him that he could possibly be quick enough on the uptake to move straight in to a second basic step without being taught it first.

"I'm not sure," he admitted.

"Walk me through your thought process, because I have to know how you did that," I said.

Without really seeming to think about it, Steve's hand shifted on mine until he could easily play his fingers across the back of my hand. It was like he needed the distraction, or perhaps the soothing tingle that we both felt when our skin touched, in order to think about why he'd decided to move the way he had. Hey, I wasn't going to complain if it got me answers. Not vocally, at least. In my head I was yelling at him to stop touching me.

"It just seemed natural," he said, his eyes staring in to the middle distance just above my shoulder. His eyebrows were pinched as he tried to dredge up the thoughts that had lead him move so perfectly. Maybe it was just intuition? Maybe. "I never saw anyone dance in just a square. They always moved around more and did spins and twirls. Everyone I ever watched always turned in a circle. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

I could understand that. "And how did you know how to go about turning in a circle?"

"It wasn't that difficult," he said. "You just step back a little more, but keep the same pattern. And since I was leading, I had to tell you what we were doing."

"But you didn't say anything," I pointed out.

"No one ever does when they're dancing," he countered. "They just move. I thought it had to be silent hand signals like the ones we use in combat, but it was different because you couldn't see what I wanted. I moved where I wanted us to go and gave you signals of where we were going to go next."

Holy crap, this guy was smart. That was exactly what people did in dancing when the dance wasn't choreographed. The dancers used silent hand signals, the slight pressing of fingers or a hand to tell their partner what to do or where to go. And he'd gleaned all of this from collective experience combined with a few minutes of dancing. He was definitely one of the brighter bulbs on Broadway. My painstakingly well-shaped eyebrows raised in awe, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth from popping open.

"That is…impressive doesn't even begin to cover it," I stated. "That's amazing."

An almost shy smile spread across Steve's face, humility and appreciation twisting his features in to something that would melt lesser women in to their socks. Luckily, I wasn't wearing socks, so I didn't have to question whether or not I was a lesser woman. His shoulders slumped as he went to shrug them, pulling him out of the dancing stance he was supposed to be in.

"Not really," he said. "I just saw it in movies and when I was with friends."

"Still, not many people would put two and two together like that. I'm impressed," I replied. "I'm actually impressed enough to think you're ready to dance to music."

Steve's eyes gave a little flash of worry before he pulled the emotion back under his control. I could almost see the fight behind his blue eyes as his hand started sweating in mine. He was nervous for some reason. I wasn't sure why, but he was.

"Relax," I said, quirking my burgundy lips in to a smirk. "Just do everything you just did to the beat of the music. It's easy stuff."

With a nod and a nervous smile, Steve settled back in to his stance, shifting his shoulders until his spine was as straight as a board.

"You're right," he stated.

He didn't sound like he believed me or himself, but I wasn't going to push the issue. If he said I was right, I wasn't going to complain or question why he still looked like he was ready to collapse in on himself from nerves. I gave his bicep a light, reassuring squeeze before I looked around his shoulder to find the phonograph. I flicked out the tendrils of my power to gently set the needle down and start the machine. What sounded like a soft trumpet slowly floated through the air, and I realized that Steve had chosen an Artie Shaw album. "Stardust" wrapped around us, and Steve moved himself forward when a band joined the lone instrument after a few notes. I followed his lead with ease, trying to ignore the palm that had turned cold and clammy in mine. I couldn't. It was making my hand feel like I'd just wiped it across a cold window pane that was covered in condensation. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, wishing he would relax and just enjoy the dance that he'd wanted to learn. I had to get his mind off of whatever was making him freak out on me, but I was afraid to break his concentration. Ah, screw it. I couldn't deal with swamp hand.

"Tell me something about when you were a kid," I said in to the swirl of woodwind notes.

"What?" he asked, looking down at me, bewilderment slipping over his features. Thankfully, my spontaneous utterance didn't break his concentration to the point that he stumbled or stepped on me. So far, so good. Now if he could just calm down.

"Tell me a happy memory about when you were a kid," I said again.

I watched as he silently questioned my motives before he started searching for what I'd requested. His eyes went almost blank as he dove in to the past, searching for a time when he was a kid that hadn't been riddled with illness. After a moment or two, a smile came to his face and he looked down at me.

"I remember sitting on my bed when I was nine, reading a book. Bucky came into my room like someone had set his socks on fire," he started. "He was telling me that I had to come play stick ball with the neighborhood kids and that I had to be on his team. I tried telling him that I wasn't good at sports and that I'd just make his team lose, but he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside. All the way to the game I kept telling him that I couldn't run, and he'd just snort and tell me I could be the catcher. Every time I tried to explain to him that I'd eventually have to hit the ball, he'd just snort again and shake his head, telling me I'd never get any better at sports if I didn't at least try. We got out to the street the kids were playing on and started the game. I was the lousiest catcher anyone could have on their team." At that, he gave a soft, nostalgic chuckle." Eventually, I had to hit to ball, and wouldn't you know it, I hit it hard enough to bounce around the street and put it right through Mrs. Callahan's window. The first time I ever hit the ball, I put it right through her window. Everyone ran away because no one wanted a beating when they got home, but I ran right to Mrs. Callahan's house. Bucky followed me, and right when he was trying to pull me in to an alley Mrs. Callahan came out. I got my first job that day, and I didn't even get in trouble."

Telling his story had gotten Steve to relax to the point that his hand was no longer sweating and his shoulders had slumped a little. His hand on my shoulder blade had moved down to rest just above the curve on my waist. There was less room between us now, too. None of it was right for the dance I'd taught him, but we were still moving gracefully and without any difficulty, so I wasn't going to complain. Especially now that he was relaxed. Hell, I'd even relaxed a little. It seems he wasn't the only one who'd taken the trip down memory lane. I'd gone with him to the point that I let his stance slip. Oh well.

Steve looked down at me, a smile on his face as he kept the memory alive in his mind. My breath tried to catch in my chest as the sun beamed down on me. Thankfully, I managed to keep breathing while simultaneously mentally kicking myself in the ass. I would not fall for him. I would not jeopardize this mission because I wasn't thinking with my head. I would not allow myself to kiss him or touch him romantically ever again. Not even for undercover work. Okay, I had to for undercover work, but other than that, this was going to be strictly professional from here on out. On my end, at least. Steve's hand above my waist pulled me in a bit closer as the song started drawing to a close. As carefully as possible, I put more room between us again, looking down for a moment to feign that I had to see our feet in order to perform the moves correctly.

"That's a really good memory," I said, looking up again to give him a small smile in return. "It sounds like Bucky has always been there for you."

"He has," Steve replied. The smile slipped from him and worry took hold. "That's why I have to find him."

"You will," I said. "We will. I promise."

With a quick tug of his lips, Steve gave me yet another smile, this one laced with worry and appreciation. His step faltered, as if he'd forgotten the rhythm, and his body leaned in toward mine. I kept the distance between us while trying to get him to fall back in to the steps. Almost as quickly as he'd lost the tempo, he found it again, with what looked like embarrassment and a myriad of troubled thoughts passing behind his eyes. The blue orbs flicked down to our feet for a fraction of a second before coming back up to meet my own candy apple green.

"Thank you," he said, his tone saying he was obviously trying to recover from his faux pas, whatever it has been. "I know it's your job to help me find him, but I appreciate it."

"It's more than just a job now," I said with a shrug. "It's a mission, and an important one."

"Still, thank you."

"You're welcome."

The music ended, almost graciously, I would say, and we slowed to a stop. We stared at each other for a few silent moments as the record skipped, signaling its end. Why was I finding it difficult to move away? Oh. Right. Because I was a moron who thought with her vagina. The better question was, what had caused him to stumble? He'd been doing so well up until we started talking about finding Barnes. His reaction didn't seem to speak to his nervousness about not having his friend, either. It felt like something else that I just couldn't put my finger on.

My right hand was suddenly free and falling toward my leg while Steve's hand on my back pulled me in a little closer to his body. I felt the soft brush of his thumb over the line of my jaw and realized with a start that his eyes were a little too intent on my lips. I fought down the panic that bubbled in my stomach. He was making a move on me. Was that what his stumbling had been about? Had he meant to kiss me but lost his footing amidst his thoughts? This wasn't good. This was bad. Very bad. And gods help me, it was all my fault. I'd kissed him the first time, and the second, and I'd pulled him in to the bed with me, and curled up in his lap on the floor. This was my doing, and I didn't know how to get out of it. I didn't know how to stop this without hurting him and keeping the rest of this mission from being awkward, but I couldn't let it go on.

Without thinking, my hand moved from his bicep to gently take his hand that was carefully tracing its way over to my lower lip. My right hand came up, too, and my pale skin folded itself over his large palm. With a watered-down smile, I set his hand on his chest and patted it.

"You're a really good dancer," I said, trying like hell to make the situation as smooth as it could possibly be. But who was I kidding? This situation was as smooth as narrow gravel road around a mountain, and way more difficult to navigate. "You'll be a professional in no time."

"Thank you," Steve replied, bewilderment clear on his face. "You're a really good instructor."

The sound of the alarm on the laptop went off, and I damn near let out a sob of relief. I could step away without making this worse.

"Nah," I said, giving my head a little shake as I moved out of the circle of his arm to walk toward the table where Steve had set the laptop. "I just watch too many instructional videos."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

My heels clicked on the wooden floor as I quickly walked to the laptop and out of Steve's reach. Oh, sure, he'd be standing next to me in a second to get a good look at the screen, but it was right now that counted. I needed a breather from that incessant tingle, however short it may be. A few typed commands later, the alarm went off and I was left staring at video footage of a short-haired man in a black cap leafing through paperback books. It looked like Barnes had gotten better at hiding the length of his hair under the cap. It looked like he actually had hair brushing the nape of his neck, giving the illusion that he'd gotten a haircut. I knew better, of course. The alarm would have gone off if he had spent enough time in a barber shop to get his hair cut, and the line of hair was too straight and clean to have been done by himself. Of all the things I'd seen and read about Barnes, this newest disguise development didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was that he was in a bookstore, casually picking titles off of the shelves and flipping through them. Why the hell was he in a bookstore? First a convenience store, then a mall, then a bookstore. What was next? A tobacco shop? A strip club? None of this made any sense. He was supposed to be in hiding, yet he kept popping up in the oddest places.

My already furrowed brow pinched together until I got a headache as Steve stepped up next to me. He bent his height down to look at the monitor, once again seeing his friend through slightly grainy video feed. He stood a little too close for my liking, his shoulder hovering just above mine as he stared at the screen, and I fought the urge to put some distance between us. I told myself that he wasn't touching me, and he wasn't making a move on me again, so it was okay for him to stand close enough that I could feel the heat radiate from his body. And, I also reasoned, even if he did make a move, I wasn't the one who would back away. Badass agents didn't back away. They backed other people away, which explained why I was single. So I stayed where I was, bent over a laptop and pressed in a little too close to my charge.

"I know what he's doing," he said suddenly, his voice carrying about as much surprise as his tall, chiseled frame could hold.

My frowned deepened until I was certain I would get a migraine and I turned my head to look at him. My eyes flicked to the computer screen, trying to see what he saw, but I was getting nothing.

"Care to elaborate, Captain, or do I have to take a few wild shots in the dark?" I asked.

So much for trying to take care of his emotions, but I needed answers, and I needed them now. The sooner I got Barnes back, the sooner I could get myself off of this case and not have to worry about being around Steve all day, every day. I could be happy and single and not have to deal with that stupid tingly feeling I got whenever he touched me. Gods, it suddenly felt like we'd been here for months, tip-toeing around each other while we tried to track down a rogue agent of chaos.

Without even sparing me a glance, Steve said, "He's visiting places we would go as kids. Almost every week, we'd go to a shop that sold sweets, then to a clothing store, then to a bookstore, and then we'd go to the park. He's trying to tell me he remembers."

The hope in that final statement was almost painful to my ears. He was so ready to believe that his friend wanted to be found, and I didn't necessarily disagree with him, but why the runaround? I hated to be the possible bearer of bad news, but... "So why didn't he just come find you if he remembered? He's excellent at slipping past security cameras, and he has to be good at slipping security systems if he can assassinate so many people, so why not just come to you rather than send you on this wild goose chase?"

"Because he's under more surveillance now than he's ever been, even when he was forced to work for Hydra," Steve replied, finally turning to give me darkening blue eyes. I'd hit a button, apparently. "He can't come find me without Hydra being on his heels, and I'm betting Hydra still wants my blood. He'd be putting me in danger and he knows it."

"So he's going to lure you out so you can both be sitting ducks under Hydra's nose?" I asked, my voice rising with annoyance.

Steve moved away from the computer and the shined table, clearly affronted at my accusation that Barnes was putting my charge in danger.

"He's not luring me out, and he's not making either of us sitting ducks," he retorted, his own annoyance flashing behind his eyes. His mouth opened to say something else and I abruptly cut him off.

"The hell, he's not!" I exclaimed. "We've been attacked by Hydra once already, and we were surrounded by them a second time. Now you're saying he's going by a pattern you both know, and that he's going to go to a park to sit among the trees so he can get his fucking brains blown out with a sniper rifle. And if it were up to you, you'd be sitting right next to him and end up just as fucking dead."

Steve's spine straightened. "I never said he'd go to the park."

"It was heavily implied. He's going by a pattern, and he won't break it until you show up, which I know you want to do," I said, jabbing a finger at him. "And if you do show up, Hydra will be all over the both of you like white on rice on a paper plate in a blizzard on top of Mount Everest."

"That's why Fury made you my bodyguard, Dani," Steve said, his annoyance finally bursting in to full view. His entire body had shifted with it, and it was almost like he was trying to pull himself away, leaning the top of his body back ever so slightly. Personally, I was way past being annoyed. I was borderline pissed, so much so that I was starting to lean toward him, my physical tell that I was ready to start fighting, verbally or physically. "You're supposed to be there to keep me alive."

"I may be a powerful telekinetic, but I can't stop a speeding bullet, Steve," I said, my voice growing louder, angrier, and more firm than his moral resolve. "Destroy an entire city block, sure! Bullet, no. Otherwise Katie would be standing right over there, painting a picture of us while we argue. I refuse to see your dumb brains get splattered all over the grass, alright? I won't do it. Find another way to meet up with him."

Steve was silent for a moment, clearly shocked by my outburst, and I let that silence hang. I was too angry to talk without blowing up. I was too sad to clear my throat without it closing up on me. I'd mentioned Katie in passing for the first time since she'd died, and I'd used her death to compare it to what might happen to Steve. What was worse, I couldn't decide whether or not his possible death by brain-out-of-the-head upset me because it would bring back vivid memories of Katie or because I actually cared about him on a level I knew I shouldn't. All I knew for certain was that I couldn't watch him put himself in danger like that just so we could collect Barnes.

"How?" Steve asked, his voice calmer now. "How am I supposed to reach him? Dani, like it or not, this is the only way. If you want me to wear a helmet under my hat, I will, but I have to see him. I have to bring him home. We don't even know if Hydra will be there. They don't know the time he'll show up. I do. I can do this if you'll just help me."

I took a deep breath, trying to make myself calm again. Damn him. If he knew the time Barnes would show up, we'd be well ahead of the Hydra goons. Still, putting him out there like that, in plain view with no cover, surrounded by civilians that Hydra clearly had no problem killing, made my stomach do flips. It was risky. It wasn't any riskier than many of my other jobs, but this one just set me on edge for some reason and I couldn't pinpoint the fucking reason. Or maybe I didn't want to pinpoint the reason.

I spun on my heel, letting my hair and skirt whirl around me as I turned to face the replica table. With one smooth motion, I closed the laptop and slid it under my arm.

"Fine," I grumbled through gritted teeth as I fished the cellar key from my pocket. I slapped the metal in to his hand as I walked toward the stairs, the tingling feeling where our skin had touched only adding to my anger. I stopped just at the bottom, my body bathed in noon sunlight as I glared at him "But if you die, I'm getting a voodoo priestess to raise you from the grave so I can kill you again myself. Lock up when you leave."

Steve stared at me for a moment, too dumbfounded to speak. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Upstairs so I can triangulate the spots Barnes visited to find the nearest park. If you want to actually go through with this suicide mission, you'll need to find the right park to die in first," I replied.

In another swirl of hair and fabric, I spun and floated up the stairs to leave Steve alone in the cellar, surrounded by the past and clinging to his future.

I sat in my bedroom, surrounded by my past while my possible future left a sickening feeling in my gut. I'd already located the park where Barnes was most likely to show up, and I'd even gone so far as to determine when he'd show up. It didn't take a detective to figure out that a look at the previous videos' timestamps might also show a pattern, especially when Steve had spelled it out for me that he and Bucky had always gone from one shop to another. Sure as shit, each appearance Bucky made was carefully calculated so that if all of the videos were played back to back, the time stamps would actually make it seem like he'd traveled from place to place. I'd calculated the travel time from the bookstore to the park and given us a possible arrival time for Barnes as well as for ourselves. Now all that was left to do was tell Steve, which was something I could have probably done upwards of one hundred times by now.

Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed with my right side to the door, my legs dangling off to hover above the wooden floor while the still open laptop sat propped against my pillow. I'd abandoned the fancy dress, makeup, and hair, instead opting for a much simpler green t-shirt, black yoga pants, and my natural straight but voluminous hair texture. I'd didn't know how long I'd been sitting there with my head on my heads and my eyes on the floor, but I was beginning to think it was a long time. Thankfully, I could get away with it because Steve obviously didn't know how long triangulation took or he'd be up my ass already, waiting for me to tell him where the park was. But there I was, alone, so wrapped up in whatever the hell I was feeling that I couldn't seem to move.

This didn't make sense. _I_ didn't make sense. My stomach felt like there were rats skittering around in it, turning and tearing places inside of me that I hoped would never touch air. My body felt shaky, yet stiff, as if it were ready to either fall back bonelessly or jump in to action at the snap of someone's fingers. Or the pull of someone's trigger. I knew this feeling. I'd gotten it when they'd told me that Katie had been kidnapped, and it had stayed with me until someone had pulled a trigger.

It was dread. Raw, cold, highly irrational dread that seemed hell bent on tearing me apart. It was dread that I was sending Steve to his death. It didn't matter that I'd had to do this with other clients or that it was highly improbable that Steve would even get so much as a grass stain on his jeans let alone a bullet in the head. I was still dreading putting Steve out there, scared to death that he might end up in a box next to his parents. And I didn't know why. Universe fucking help me, but I didn't know why I was so pants-shittingly terrified of such a smart, simple plan. I was missing something, and it felt like it had to be something obvious for it to be causing me this much emotional hell.

For the fiftieth time, I went over it in my head, rolling the thoughts around like they were candy on my tongue. He was just a charge. I'd done this sort of thing before with no problem. He was a fully capable super-human. None of my other charges had been and they'd been fine. Well, except for that one guy, but he'd literally stepped in front of a speeding dump truck when I'd turned my head to scope the surrounding streets. I could've sworn I'd heard him say something about controlling his own death. Moron. But Steve wasn't that guy, and I doubted a dump truck would do shit to him even if he did step in front of one. All logic pointed to this being another run of the mill bodyguard gig. So why was my brain sending up so many warning flags and flares that all I could see was shades of neon orange? This didn't make any sense. My anger at him for even suggesting this plan, my worry that he would die, the dread that had taken root in my belly, the odd sting at the backs of my eyes that made me feel like I was going to cry, the horrific feeling that I was reliving Katie all over again, none of it made sense! I couldn't, for the fucking life of me, figure out why I had these stupid feelings. It just didn't add up.

A tentative knock at my open door pulled my head up, and I found Steve taking up a good chunk of space in the doorway. He'd stayed in his dark blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, but the boots were gone. At least he didn't think we were still going out today. The look on his face clearly said that he was worried, as if the knock hadn't given that one away. Realizing that I was curled in on myself and only a few movements away from becoming a ball of misery, I straightened my spine and pushed my palms down in to the mattress behind my butt.

"Hey," I said, pretending that I hadn't just been caught with my head in my hands. Stupid open door. Why did I have that door open in the first place?! Oh, right. Bad guys. I had to hear if they were coming up the stairs. Like I'd heard Steve coming up the stairs. Oh, I was so fucked if I didn't get this shit figured out. "What's up?"

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, completely ignoring my question as he took a step in to the room.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I lied.

He lifted an eyebrow at me before shifting his gaze to the computer I assumed was visible just beyond my reclining body. "Couldn't find a park?"

I sat up with realization. He thought I hadn't found anything and that I was worrying over Bucky getting away. Or that I was worrying about how to tell him that Bucky was going to get away.

"No," I said, my voice a decibel or two too high from shock. "I mean yes. I mean…mother fucker." Upset over my stumbling, I managed to blurt out "I found a park. I even think I know when Bucky will show up."

Steve damn near lit up, until he remembered that I'd almost been a ball, and then worry eased back in over his features.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, a bit more insistent this time.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm fine," I lied again. "Just tired."

His eyes roamed over the unmade bed as if he were trying to figure out if I'd slept in it or not. He walked in to the room, his eyes roaming me now as he got closer. He took in my straight hair, still damp from the shower I'd had to take to get all of the hairspray out of it, eyeing it as if to see if there were any signs that I'd been laying down. His eyes darted around mine, probably looking for bags and signs of sleep. Why else would I have not come to get him, right? I had to have been asleep to not tell him something so important, right? Wrong. I was just up here having some sort of weird breakdown thing. No big deal.

Or maybe it was. Steve sat down next to me with worry settled on his face like it was going to be staying for a while. Apparently he'd come to a conclusion about why I'd stayed up here for however long I had, and whatever it was made him very concerned for me.

"You were thinking about Katie," he said.

Well, he wasn't wrong, and I could see where he'd gotten that from. I'd compared his possible imminent death to my sister's, who I didn't talk about, and then stormed out and disappeared for what might have been hours. And then he'd found me curling in on myself, probably looking utterly despondent. Yeah, I could see where he'd gotten it from.

"No," I said softly. Then, ever so carefully, I added "Yes. It's complicated."

"Dani, you need to talk about her," he said, his voice as soft and sure as a brook on a mountain. "You can't keep holding your feelings about her death in. You need to l-"

"Did you talk about Bucky when you thought he died?" I asked, straightening so I could turn to him. Old anger set the rats in my stomach on fire, making my stomach burn and twist until it was almost nauseating. "As a male soldier in the 1940's, did you talk about him? Or did you drink and pretend that the water rolling down your face was condensation from the glass?"

Steve seemed taken aback by my sudden outburst, then closed his eyes when my words finally hit him right in the Bucky-sized hole.

"No," he acquiesced, opening his eyes to look at me, "but I didn't hang on to him like this. I grieved, but I didn't wallow in it for three years. You need to talk about her."

"No, I don't," I said, slapping my hand on the bed next to my hip. "There's nothing to talk about. She died, they died, end of story. It's done. It's over. Leave it alone."

"Dani-"

"For fuck's sake! Drop it! That's not even what I was thinking about so just fucking drop it, okay?" I cried. "Please."

I was on my feet, pacing, and I didn't even remember moving. I stopped just in front of him, raking a hand through my hair. My gut was still roiling, and this was doing nothing to help me. Closing my eyes, I took a few calming breaths to get my anger level down a few notches. He was just trying to help. I had to remember that. He was trying to help. Don't shoot the messenger; burn the message. After a few silent moments, Steve's curious, almost accusing voice sliced through the tension-thick air.

"What were you thinking about, then?" he asked. "You said you were thinking about Katie."

"I was thinking about you, goddammit," I said, not lifting my head to see him. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see any emotions cross his handsome face. "I was thinking about your stupid brains all over the stupid grass, and I don't want to deal with that."

Anger stabbed at me, its red-hot blade punching in to me with the mere thought that I was stupid to feel the way I did, stupid to not be able to figure it all out, stupid to be a seasoned agent with rats in her stomach giving her company a bad name because she couldn't control her shit.

"Do you feel this way with all of your um…charges?" Steve asked, his voice still soft with just a hint of accusation under it. "Or do you do this to make them back out of their plan?"

I turned on him, eyes angry that he would dare accuse me of manipulating him. I'd knock his ass out before I used tears and a tragic backstory to keep him from getting himself killed. It was way more effective.

"No," I said, heat dripping on the word like it could become fire on my lips. "I don't manipulate my charges, you ass. And I don't do this-" I motioned to the whole of my body and the emotions so clearly displayed on it "-either. I've worked similar plans with charges so many times I've lost count, and I've _never_ felt this way before. It's you. There's something about you. The thought of something happening to you makes me feel like I did when Katie was kidnapped. Why it's you and not the hot CEO who would have given me an island, I have no idea! But for some reason the thought of you dead makes me feel like I'm going to break apart and I don't know why and it's PISSING ME OFF!"

My voice rose steadily until I screamed the last, and only the harsh, bright light in front of my scrunched eyelids told me that I'd engulfed myself in flames. I took a calming deep breath, drawing in air as I carefully opened my eyes and sucked the fire that surrounded me back in to my skin. That's not really where it came from, but it sure as hell looked like it.

I didn't look at Steve. I couldn't look at Steve. My uncalled for outburst coupled with my sudden inability to control my powers made it impossible for me to look at him. I didn't want to see horror on his face. I knew I was a freak, and I was fine with the horrified stares of onlookers, but I couldn't see that look on his face. Not right now. On the battlefield, I could deal with it, but right now I was too raw. My emotions were already flayed and laid bare in a disgraceful heap of unprofessionalism, and I just couldn't deal with him looking at me like I was a freak that needed to be put down.

"Get out," I said. "Just, walk away and pretend this didn't happen."

"No," he said. The floorboards creaked as he stood, and I wondered how I hadn't heard him come up the fucking stairs. "I'm not walking away."

He paused, but I could feel the tension in him, something unsaid hanging on the tip of his tongue. I braced for it, waiting for him to tell me he was going to report everything to Fury because it wasn't morally right to have an almost literal loose cannon protecting valuable people. He took a breath, and I steeled myself, my eyes on the newly scorched floorboards.

"I know why you feel like you're going to break apart," he said.

That…wasn't what I was expecting. Surprise rippled through me, shaking off the rest of my emotions long enough for me to look up at him. Moving the hair out of my eyes, I found that he'd actually taken a step closer to me rather than toward the door. I gazed at him, my green eyes wide.

"Then please," I said, pain slowly starting to inch its way back in to my gut, "tell me, because I can't figure it out."

He took another step toward me, but it wasn't a very sure step. It was one of those steps you took when you were pleading for someone to get off of the ledge of a high building, or when you were trying to negotiate with a hostage taker when you had no negotiation skills. Crap. If he was going all shitty hostage negotiator on me, then the reason had to be bad. Again, I steeled myself.

"I think…" he started, then stopped, thinking better of his wording. "You care about me."

Again, not what I had been expecting. My emotions shifted for the hundredth time. I didn't like this emotional roller coaster. I wanted to get off. But this, what he was saying, that was crazier than anything I could ever dream of doing, including riding Mental Hell Coaster. His hands came up like he was trying to show me he was unarmed and he inched toward me.

"I'm sorry, but did you do drugs when I left you downstairs?" I asked, disbelief filling my still wide eyes. "Because I think you just went insane. Certifiably so."

A small smile quirked his lips. I didn't think it was very funny. I was pissed, sad, pissed, confused, and really fucking pissed.

"No, I didn't do drugs, and I'm not insane. Just think about it, okay?" he said. "You loved Katie. You loved her so much that you're still grieving from her death three years ago. You said that the feeling you have now is the one you had when she'd been kidnapped."

"I don't love you," I said.

"I didn't say you did," he replied, holding up his hand to ward off my oncoming protest, "and I only implied it a little. But think about it, Dani. You really cared for your sister. And whenever we touch…"

He let me fill in the blank on that one, as if even he couldn't bring himself to say it because it was too crazy. He was much closer now, his feet touching the foot-wide scorch marks on the floor in front of me. The hand he'd held up to stop me from arguing found my skin and peace zinged through me, ripping away my emotions to leave me feeling nothing but calmness and exhaustion. Strong emotions tried to take hold, but kept slipping away, unable to grasp on to me for very long.

"This is crazy," I said, managing to force some disbelief in to it. "I've known you for three days. I don't even know the name of someone's cat in three days."

"But it makes sense," he replied. "It's the only thing that does, even if it doesn't. And that one singer said that being crazy in love was-"

I frowned at that, cutting him off. "I swear to God, if you start quoting Beyoncé, I am going t-"

Lips suddenly, urgently, pressed in to mine, and I could say nothing.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Lips on mine pressed their need for understanding and acceptance in to my skin. The hand on my arm moved to cup my jawline, holding me in place so Steve could kiss me more thoroughly, his lips parting mine so I could taste him on my tongue. His arm went around my back, pulling me in to him as much as the height difference would allow, and I fell down the rabbit hole of sensation. Giving in to my body and the peaceful tingle that surged through it, I lifted myself on to my toes so he didn't have to bend down so far, one hand going to the back of his neck while the other made a fist in the fabric of his shirt. His grip on me became more firm as he felt me melt in to him, and he responded in kind by pulling me in to another kiss, his lips parting mine in one gloriously delicious motion.

I'd obviously kissed my fair share of men, dated some, and slept with less, but this felt different. It felt other. It wasn't lust that drove my urge to kiss him. Okay, maybe it was, but it sure as hell didn't feel like it. Lust felt like fire, like a burn that tore you down to your most basic animal instincts, where sex ruled you until the orgasm hit in an explosion of white lightning. This felt like…ice. Like crystals building on each other, becoming something new yet the same with each passing moment. Like it could become expansive and wide even if no one touched it to help it along. Even if no one looked at it. It was just there, ever growing, slowly forming mountains that would last eons. It felt like even if I stopped touching him, pulled away now and didn't touch him again for years, when I came back there would be mountains of ice and snow. It felt long-lasting, like it would wait for me. Like he would wait for me. Like this, like _he_ was someone to come home to. Like he was someone I could…no.

No, that didn't happen after three days. This didn't happen after three weeks, let alone three days. There was no snowy mountain waiting for me. And yet, there it was, growing before me, daring me to climb it to places I'd only ever dreamed of as a little girl, to find the rainbow that ended at the castle in the sky. It reminded me of when I'd still believed in the fairy tales that promised happily ever after. But happily ever after was a lie. It never lasted. Especially after only three days. Romeo and Juliet died for three days. But they'd died for the fire, hadn't they? People like my grandparents, like my parents, they lived in this snowy wonderland. Didn't they? But it was only three days. It was impossible. This wasn't possible!

I pushed Steve away from me, shoving myself back a few steps just to get out of his reach. The snow was a lie. It always melted. Steve was proof of that. I looked at him, horrified at myself that I'd actually started allowing the lie to seep in to my brain. And he looked at me, sad. He held so much sadness in those blue depths of his, like we'd come so close, but…

"This isn't right," I said, holding my hands out as if to keep him away.

"Dani," he pleaded, one large, warm hand moving as if he were reaching for me.

"No, Steve," I said, confusion and the fading tingle of his lips on mine sending my mind reeling. "This isn't right. It isn't possible."

"Neither are we," he replied. "We're not possible, but here we are. Dani, it's okay."

"It's not okay," I said, my voice rising as panic at the implications of icy mountains grabbed a hold of my insides.

This wasn't right. Hydra had to have a mutant toying with us for the corporation's sick amusement. Or it was whatever serum they had given him to make him super. It wasn't right!

"It's not okay," I said more firmly. "Someone, something is messing with us."

"Who would mess with us like this?" he asked, his pleading voice moving to a tone that almost demanded reason. "Who would mess with our heads using love? And how? Dani, it's been happening since before we left New York."

"It's not love," I scowled, "and it hasn't been happening since New York."

"You know that's a lie," he said. "I felt it in your apartment when we talked to your landlord. I felt it when I touched your hand in the car."

"Then someone has followed us from New York!" I exclaimed. "There has to be someone at the base who's a spy, and they sent another mutant after us just to fuck with our heads before they rip the illusion away and leave us hanging by our necks."

"Fury wouldn't let anyone in that he didn't trust. You know that," Steve reasoned. "And why would Hydra torture us when they wouldn't be there to see the fallout?"

Dammit, he had a point on that first bit. There were some massive douchebags on base, but they were all good soldiers and spies, and Fury wouldn't just hire any asshat with a resume in secret government work. He only chose people he trusted with his life, and the organization's information and wellbeing. But this was still so wrong. I put a clammy hand to my forehead, trying to think.

"Okay, so it's not a mutant following us, though Hydra would be there for the fallout if they caught or surrounded us," I said. I had to figure this out. It was so illogical. But what had I said earlier about emotions? Oh. Right. That they weren't logical at all. But fucking hell, this was so wrong! "It has to be the serum you were injected with. Maybe it attracts mutants, like a pheromone from hell."

"I've never felt like this with anyone ever before," Steve said, clearly dismissing my idea with his soft tone. The tone that said he was telling me the truth, that begged me to just stop fighting.

"Then you've never met a mutant before," I replied, frowning.

I lowered my hand from my forehead to glare at him, upset more at myself and the fact that I couldn't figure out what was going on than I was at him. The glare died before it even began to reach my eyes. Steve was well within reach now, but was, mercifully, not touching me. That wasn't what had stopped the glare, though. His look of exasperation mixed with sorrow was what had done it. Damn it.

"I fought beside thousands of men in the war," he said, his blue eyes steady on me. "I don't know how many mutants are out there, but I think I would have met at least one on the battlefield."

Shit balls and fuck your mother, why was he always right?! Well, not always right, but right enough to annoy me when I was trying to logic my way around feelings.

"But this…Steve, this isn't right. It isn't logical. Three days, we've known each other, and you're saying we're already neck deep in care? That we were connected on the first fucking day? How does that make any sense at all?" I asked.

"It doesn't," he conceded, "but emotions don't make sense. You said it yourself. Why is it so hard for you to accept something that's right in front of you?"

"Because it's not right!" I exclaimed. I was sounding like a broken record now, and it was beginning to get on my nerves. "How can I just accept whatever the hell this is when it doesn't make a lick of sense? What am I supposed to do if I do accept it? Throw myself in to your arms and say 'Love me, Steve. I'm yours forever'? Pretend it's not happening, because that has worked _so well_ for me?"

"Dani," Steve said, taking a step forward, his hands out as if to take me by the shoulders. I took a step away from him, not wanting him to touch me as I desperately tried to figure out what the hell to do. Him touching me would clear my head of almost everything and I really didn't need that right now. His hands hesitated in the air for a moment, clearly wanting to flash out and grab me, before he let them fall to his sides. "A lot of things don't make sense, but they still happen. Mutants don't make sense. Super soldiers don't make sense. Bullies don't make sense. But they're all still here, and we accept them and move on, whether we do something about them or not. You don't have to throw yourself in to my arms or pretend nothing is happening. You just have to accept it. Please."

"Actually, all of those things you said do make sense," I pointed out. "Mutants are the next in human evolution. Super soldiers are engineered through chemical compounds. Most bullies tend to have some bullshit going on in their life to make them dickbags. This doesn't make sense. And I can't handle that. I can't handle what I feel for you. It's like I'm drowning in an invisible sea, and if I just accept that then I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die," Steve said. His body shifted, showing that he clearly wanted to take a step forward. "If you accept that the sea is there, you can keep your head above water, and I can help. Please, I'm begging you. Even if nothing else happens, please just accept this."

My hand went back to my forehead, trying to rub away the incoming headache. I couldn't handle this. If I did accept it, what would happen? Would I be able to do my job effectively if I admitted that I had feelings for him, or would my feelings make me do impulsive, dangerous things that put everyone in danger? Would we fall in love? Could I really handle falling in love, especially when it was with a charge who happened to be America's first hero? How could I just accept this and not have everything change? Oh, gods. I couldn't do this. If I stuck around, things would go to hell and innocent people would end up dead. I knew it. I just knew it. I had to call Fury.

Without saying a word, I moved around Steve to head for my bags that rested on the other side of the bed, one of which was filled with untraceable cell phones. I didn't look up at my silent, probably confused companion as I rummaged through a black duffel to find a phone. It wasn't until I actually had a phone in my hand that Steve spoke up, his voice right behind me.

"What are you doing?" he asked. I could have sworn that I heard hurt in his voice, as if he already knew the answer to his question. I felt guilty, guilty enough to make my chest hurt, but I had to do this.

"I'm calling Fury," I replied, bringing up the keypad on the touch screen. "I'm officially resigning from this case. You should have a new bodyguard within a few hours."

I started tapping on the numbers only to have the phone taken from my hand before I was even halfway done dialing. I whipped around the see Steve toss the phone on to the bed, well out of my physical reach.

"Dani, no," he said, rather adamantly. "We've gotten so far. We're so close to finding Bucky, and that's all because of you. Bringing someone else in will ruin our progress." Then, as if he felt like he was being a bit too selfish, he added, "You've been a great bodyguard, even though you have been having these feelings. You do your job no matter what, and you do it well. Accepting how you feel won't change anything. I promise."

I frowned at him, holding my hand out toward the phone that had been carelessly tossed on the bed. I let my power slip out to find the slim electronic and quickly snapped it in to my hand before Steve could react. That snatch and grab didn't really feel very Steve-like, which only made me more adamant that someone was screwing with us. Unless he felt incredibly strongly about me, to the point that he refused to let me fuck this up, even if it did mean doing something out of character. This was confusing the hell out of me and I really hated it. Therefore, the only thing I could do to make everything better and less confusing was to remove myself from the situation entirely.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I said.

I hit a button to light up the screen, which was still stuck on the keypad, half of the digits already pressed and ready to go. Large hands were suddenly wrapped around mine, so warm and heavy that they almost took my breath away in a rush of ecstasy, even as they pinned my fingers to the phone. That heady tingle zipped across my skin where Steve touched me, and peace rebounded through me, pinging across all corners of my brain. I looked up in to pleading blue eyes, their emotion so heavy that my heart almost hurt just looking at them.

"I can keep this promise," Steve said. "I can tell that you won't let this get in your way. You're not that kind of person. Please, just stay with me. Accept how you feel and stay with me so we can find Bucky. Maybe…once this is over and you're not my bodyguard anymore we can go out for dinner. But please, just see this through with me."

My mind wrapped around those silken words that begged for understanding, looked in to those pleading eyes that refused to let me go, and let his plea sink in. Maybe if I did just accept it, things would be so much easier. It wouldn't hurt too much to try, right? Around the haze of comfort, I made my decision. Gently, I slipped my hands from his and let the phone drop back in to the duffel bag. I was going to see this through. Agents didn't run away, even if they were scared to death that they were falling in love with their charge.


	32. Chapter 32

(Guess what's back?! That's right! After a long hiatus, Burn With Me is finally back in action. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and continue to enjoy it. Thank you for reading!)

Two hours later, Steve and I found ourselves sweaty and nearly out of breath, both of our hearts pounding furiously in our chests. Well, I had anyway. Thanks to the super soldier serum, Steve's stamina was something that even Zeus himself would consider god-like. I was exhausted, with sweat sticking thin strands of my black hair to my face. Pushing them out of the way was no use as they'd only become trapped again in the slickness that covered my skin. My hands gripped the stair railing, my arms and legs weak from exertion and begging for a break. We'd been all over the house, twisting our bodies in to various, seemingly impossible positions that made at least my muscles cry out that I was pushing myself too hard. My abs and back ached from arching and sitting up, and my sides screamed that their stitches were coming loose. Even my hands and feet were telling me to stop this exquisite torture, but I wasn't listening. I needed to keep going, and apparently, so did Steve. I hadn't had a workout like this in a while. In fact, I don't think I'd ever had a workout like this. It's not every day that you use a stair railing to do pull-ups and upside down sit-ups.

After thoroughly embarrassing myself in front of Steve, I'd decided that I needed to exercise out my emotions. He seemed to think that a workout was a good idea as well, so we'd been going around the house finding things to use in a routine. Specifically things that wouldn't collapse under our weight and training. I hadn't said a word to him since we'd left my room, and I didn't plan on talking to him until I could get my emotions under control. Or at least until I could figure out a good plan on meeting Barnes that wouldn't get anyone killed.

Gods, I felt like such a child. I'd been so out of control, my thoughts and feelings flip-flopping like a politician's stances and promises. I love you, I hate you, don't touch me, hold me forever, I'm leaving, I'm staying. It was like I was an indecisive teenager that happened to be a damn fireball. I had never allowed myself to show such emotion to anyone. I had never experienced such a rapid change in them, either. I hadn't lost control of my powers since Katie died, and all it had taken today was Steve insisting that I just let him meet Barnes in a public place. Oh, and telling me to confess my feelings for him and deal with Katie's death. Yeah, I felt like a complete whack job. Working out was helping to quell everything, thankfully, and it was keeping my mind on things that truly mattered, like how to keep Hydra from killing us and innocent people when Steve and I went to secure Barnes.

An hour later, I'd just finished downing my third glass of water when Steve walked in to the kitchen, looking like he'd just stepped through a misting machine. I was dripping sweat and he had a soft glisten to his skin. His hair wasn't even damp. Damn super soldiers.

I was pretty sure that I had worked out all of my crazy and was emotionally stable enough to talk to him now without flipping my lid. It certainly felt that way, at least. I was too hopped up on feel-good brain chemicals to blow up on him or be irrational. Yeah, I should've been safe enough to talk to him.

"Water?" I asked, motioning to the cupboard full of various cups.

"Yes, please," he said.

We stood in silence as I got him a glass of water and handed it to him. Yay. Now things were awkward. I was such a fucking moron. Why I had to make things overly difficult, I had no idea and now we were both clammed up. He said his thanks before taking a gulp of the liquid and leaning against the counter. I went to rinse out my glass in the sink, thinking about how insane I'd been acting for the past few days. It had to end. My back and forth emotional state had to end for the good of the mission of both of our sanity. It was time to set things right. Setting down the empty cup, I whirled around, damp hair stinging my face as I came to an abrupt stop to face him.

"I'm sorry," we both said.

That was unexpected.

"Why are you sorry?" I asked, a frown beetling my eyebrows. "I'm the one acting like a nutbar."

"I've been pushing you and your boundaries," he explained, remorse filling his tone. "I wanted you to commit to something you weren't ready to even admit to. I pushed you to open up about something that's very difficult for you, and I had no right. I apologize for that."

Oh. Well, that made sense. It even made me like him more as a person that he was willing to admit his mistakes and apologize. Of course, he was Mr. Moral, but still, it made me like him more as a human rather than as some untouchable legend.

"Apology accepted," I replied. With a sigh, I leaned back against the counter. "And I'm sorry for pulling you all over hell and creation with my emotions. I know I've been giving you signs that I want you and care about you, and then pulling away and getting pissy when we get too close. You don't deserve that and I'm sorry. I'll work on making sure it doesn't happen anymore."

"Apology accepted," he said with a small smile. But the smile quickly faded and confusion replaced it. "How are you going to make sure it doesn't happen anymore?"

I shrugged. "I'm going to not be romantic with you and in the meantime I'm going to work on accepting my feelings."

Something shifted behind his eyes before he cast them to the floor. I felt like I knew that look, but I couldn't quite place my finger on what it was. It was too complicated to completely decipher. Was it sadness that I wasn't going to show my feelings for him, was it happiness that I was actually accepting how I felt, was it both, or was it something else entirely? I didn't have long to think, as he lifted his blond head of hair to stare at me with smiling blue eyes. Whatever he'd been thinking, he was now either hiding it or over it. I wasn't sure which one made me feel better. With one, he was learning to lie to me. With the other, he was being way too nonchalant for who he was.

"Okay. No more romance while you figure everything out," he said. "I promise."

A small smirk graced my lips. "Thank you."

I sucked in a lungful of air, letting the action replace my appreciative smirk with a blank business face. We'd cleared the air and now it was time to get back to business. We needed to grab Barnes and safely get him back to New York, and we had until tomorrow afternoon to come up with a plan.

"I was trying to come up with a plan for tomorrow. I hate going in to a rescue mission without a plan, but it occurred to me that we have no idea where in the park Barnes will be. I can pull up a complete map, but until we actually get there, I don't think I can come up with an effective plan to keep you both safe," I said.

Steve looked at me over the edge of his water glass, thoughts quickly shifting behind his eyes. He was trying to come up with a plan, too. There was the captain I'd heard so much about.

"We've both had times where we've had to go in to a situation blind," he said, setting his nearly empty glass on the counter behind him. "We'll just have to deal with everything as it comes."

"I don't like that," I sighed. "I think we should get to the park early and scope it out. I'm sure there will be plenty of places for snipers and spies, and the better we know the area before we meet Barnes, the better chance we all have of walking away."

"I agree," Steve said. "Once we get there, we can come up with a plan of some kind. But you know just as well as I do that sometimes you have to play it by ear."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't like it," I replied. "I trust you to not do anything stupid, but I still don't like how open it all is. The park _and_ the plan, before you ask. Are you bringing your shield?"

"Of course," he replied, his massive shoulders moving to form one of the smallest shrugs I'd ever seen. "I'll wear it in the harness and put a few layers of jackets over it."

"That might be a bit conspicuous," I frowned. "It's not exactly cold enough to warrant multiple layers."

"We're getting a cold snap coming through tomorrow," Steve said. "Cold enough for at least a couple of thin jackets."

Green eyes wide, I stared at him, flabbergasted that he was aware of tomorrow's weather before I was. Apparently he hadn't been listening to music on the MP3 player I'd loaned him. Sneaky bastard.

"Did you watch the Weather Channel or something?" I asked, knowing full well that the TV hadn't been on the entire time we'd been running around the house.

"It was on the radio," he replied.

"And there's the proof that you're ninety," I joked. "You listen to the weather on the radio. On an MP3 player."

A laugh bubbled up from Steve's chest and he shook his head at me. "I was listening to music and the weather came on."

"Excuses, excuses," I muttered.

"It's better than that…stuff you listen to."

I lifted an affronted finger in the air and waved it at him, my eyebrows raising toward my hairline. "Exsqueeze you. I will have you know that Ninja Sex Party is a great band to work out to. Very energetic."

A glimmer of humor was caught behind his eyes, and it seemed more mischievous than his usual happy-go-lucky jokester attitude. For some reason I knew that spelled a disaster of sorts for me.

"And sing to," he smiled.

Yep. There was the disaster.

"I did not," I replied.

"Off key."

"Them's fightin' words," I said in a mock Southern accent, a false frown pulling down my lips. "You're lucky you're geriatric or I would so take you on."

"Like you said, I may be ninety, but I still have the mind and body of a twenty-seven year old," he replied. He paused for a moment, then looked at me with his brows furrowed. "What does 'exsqueeze' mean?"

"It's 'excuse' for young people, Mr. Motorized Scooter."

Steve held back a smile to the best of his ability, leaving the corners of his lips to twitch into a near smirk. He crossed those thick arms of his over his broad chest, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"You kids and your strange slang," he said, shimmering blue eyes falling on me.

"Oh, good," I said, my eyes widening once again, a toothy fake smile spreading across my lips. "He's embraced his age." I moved toward him, patting him on the shoulder as I aimed for the stairs. "There's no way that could possibly lead to a heart attack."

"Says the woman soaked in sweat from a three hour workout," he retorted.

"I will have you know that my workout was incredibly intense. I might as well have been chased by a bear, it was so intense," I replied, still working my way toward the stairs. I needed a shower. I was starting to feel sticky and gross. "So intense that the cardio made my heart muscles as strong as your biceps. Who wins now?"

"Still me, I think," came the reply.

I reached the bottom step and looked over at him, squinting my eyes at him with menace so fake it might as well have been Pamela Anderson's boobs.

"You're not cute," I said.

"We'll see about that," Steve grinned.

Oh, he was getting cheeky. We might have been spending too much time together. With a shake of my head and a hidden smile, I went up the stairs to wash the drying sweat off of me while Steve did whatever Steve did when I wasn't around.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

My third shower of the day was decidedly more glorious than the first two. There was something about washing sweat off of your skin that made everything feel right with the world, at least for a couple of seconds. My hair, however, reminded me that the world wasn't all it was cracked up to be as it had taken a shampoo beating today and was now dryer than the friggin' Sahara. I'd had to leave my conditioner in for ten minutes just to get it even slightly soft again. This meant that by the time I'd dried off and gotten dressed, this time in a light grey tank top and black Slytherin sweatpants, Steve had already showered and gotten almost half the way through Aerosmith's _Permanent Vacation_ album. Apparently, he'd not only gotten over not wanting to touch the remotes, but he'd figured out how to take the CD's off of shuffle. Smart man.

"St. John" filtered in through the surround sound speakers, oddly quiet for rock band. However, this seemed pretty on par with Steve's personality, or at least his lack of love and knowledge for rock music. He had no idea that it was supposed to be blasted at a soothing billion decibels. Eh, I forgave him.

When I came down the stairs, laptop in hand, he was sitting on the couch with his head down. For a moment, I thought he was taking an old man cat nap or really sad, but the sound of a turning page squashed those thoughts before I could ask him if he was okay. My footfall on the stairs became deliberately heavy as my way of letting him know he was no longer alone. His shoulders tensed slightly under yet another too tight, white t-shirt. Shifting slightly, he looked over his shoulder to see who very much wasn't sneaking up on him, a small relieved smile coming to his face when he found it was only me and my big feet.

"Hey," he said, the book closing with a dull thump.

"Hey," I replied, walking over to the couch. "Where'd you find the book?"

My body at his right shoulder, I leaned over the back of the couch to see what he had in his hands. It was an old paper-cover copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ , one with a heavily bent spine that was falling apart. It was going to have to be rebound soon. Steve's index finger was holding his place among the pages as he allowed me to study the cover.

"It was on a shelf in the closet," he replied, his eyes finding mine. "You did say to explore."

"I did, and I'm glad you took that advice. It's a good book. Kind of odd that you're reading it while listening to rock music, but I'm just glad you're actually listening to rock music without making faces."

"I make faces?" Steve asked as I walked to the love seat, a frown pinching his eyebrows together.

"Only once so far, but you certainly didn't look happy," I replied.

I sat down, placing the laptop on my, well, lap. Flipping it open, I awoke it from sleep mode to check if we got any more hits on Barnes. Big surprise, there had been nothing since the last time he'd shown up. With a start, I'd realized I hadn't told Steve when we needed to be at the park. I'd been too busy having a mental breakdown to say anything. Looking up, ready to spill the beans, I found that Steve had already opened the book and was reading with a smile on his face. He looked so happy that I didn't want to interrupt him, but he needed to know. And honestly, he'd probably be even happier once he knew more about how he'd get Bucky back.

Taking my typical rip-the-bandaid-off route, I said, "I completely forgot to tell you. Bucky should be at the park by two, so we'll try to get there by one-thirty to scope the place out."

Steve lifted his head to look at me, surprise flashing across his face at my random utterance. His lips parted for a moment, then closed as he glanced back down at his book. Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly thought better of it, shifting slightly in his seat to angle his body toward me. I had his attention, and what was more, I'd rendered him speechless. I didn't feel like the situation deserved speechlessness, but it was kind of nice to know that I had that effect on people. And it was really cute on Steve.

"Okay," he managed, flicking his eyes back to me. "I thought we'd already talked about this."

"No," I said, straightening up. "We talked about when he might show up and not having a plan, but I never actually told you when we'd be going."

He seemed to think about that for a moment before giving an almost imperceptible nod and returning to his book. I sank bank in to the love seat, my fingers drifting over the keys of the laptop.

"I could have sworn we'd talked about it," he mumbled.

"You've been hanging out with me too much. You're losing your memory," I replied. "Or you're getting old."

A chuckle came from his side of the room. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I replied, adding an extra lilt to my voice.

We both went silent, Steve reading while I pulled up Google Maps so I could get a better look at the park. It was basically a green field with a path and a few benches. Trees dotted the border, attempting to give it the illusion that the visitors weren't in a city. From what I could see in the pictures, it didn't work. There was still a very clear view of the street and surrounding buildings, which meant we would be up shit creek without a paddle when it came to snipers and people watching us.

I clicked to spin the camera around, trying to get a better view from the middle of the park when I spotted a bench under a big tree. It wasn't very far from the path, but it was covered and seemingly out of sight of most of the buildings' roofs and upper floors. It was completely visible to anyone on the ground as the park was so open, but it would have some pretty good cover from snipers. The branches and leaves would obstruct someone's view enough to make it difficult for them to get a bead on us. Not impossible, which was what I wanted, but difficult. I figured that if Bucky went anywhere in the park, it would be there. At least we had a spot.

I clicked around some more, looking at the nearby parking lot, the buildings, the storefronts, the streets, and even the bus depot across the way. If we had to run, which I was betting we were going to have to do, I wanted to have several escape plans in place. I wasn't going to put us on a bus, but making Hydra think we'd gotten on one might buy us a few minutes.

Plan in place, I clicked back to the surveillance screen and checked the time. Holy balls, it was almost four o'clock. The day felt like it had crawled by, but apparently it hadn't. Deciding it was too early for dinner but not too late for food, I decided to get a snack.

Setting the laptop on the coffee table, I stood and went to the pantry. There had to be something small we could eat so our stomachs didn't start yelling at us. After a couple of minutes of looking, I found a box of crunchy chocolate and almond granola bars. Eh, it would work. I grabbed two, placing one in my right hand and one in my left. Walking up behind the couch, I gently tapped the back of my hand to Steve's shoulder. He turned large, questioning blue eyes to me, giving me an almost boyish smile when I motioned the bar toward him.

My breath tried to catch in my chest, my mind fixating on just how good he looked. It was almost criminal for him to be that good-looking, and it was definitely annoying. Even before he'd gotten the muscles and super strength, he'd had this innocent, handsome look about him. Genetics hadn't been kind to him medically, but it sure as hell had been kind to him aesthetically. The adorable bastard.

Pushing my thoughts aside, I returned his smile and handed him the granola bar, resisting the overwhelming urge to run my fingers through his hair. Next time we kissed, I was definitely touching those blond strands. Wow. I was already resigning myself to thinking we were going to kiss again. I was suddenly taking this whole romance thing pretty well. I didn't like that. Well, on some level I did because it meant that I was taking my apology to him seriously and trying to change. However, it also meant that I wasn't fighting an extremely unprofessional feeling and imminent relationship.

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Did I keep my promise of sorts to Steve and let myself give an actual relationship a chance while simultaneously putting my job on the line or did I go back to ineffectively pretending that my feelings weren't there and risk him no longer trusting me, which would put both of us in danger? With a silent curse at Fury for putting me on this assignment, I rounded the couch and plopped down next to the laptop. I clicked to bring up my web browser and typed in a command to take me to a comedy list website. I needed some funny to offset my teen-like angst.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked nonchalantly as I opened my bar.

"Reading," I replied.

I took a bite of food as I shifted the computer back over my thighs. Cellophane crumpled as I pulled up an old article about easily solved unsolved mysteries.

"Why don't you go get a book?" he asked.

"Because then I would have to go up the stairs. My legs already hurt, so I don't want to do that."

"Wimp," was the dry retort I received in return.

My eyes widened, staring at the top of the computer in shock. Had he really just said that? Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes was throwing out joking verbal jabs? Since when? Man, we really were hanging out too much. I flicked my eyes over to him, giving his comment the good-humored glare it deserved. He wasn't looking at me. Oh, it was going to be like that, was it?

"I will throw something at you," I replied.

He didn't so much as twitch an eyelash in my direction, but the corners of his lips did move up ever so slightly. He was definitely messing with me.

"I'm just saying, you can't even go up stairs."

Using a frown to hide the smile that threatened to spread across my face, I slapped my hand on one of the throw pillows and hurled it at him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed with a laugh, one arm coming up to block the incoming cushion.

"I told you I would do it," I said, humor seeping in to my tone. "I wasn't kidding."

"That's not fair," he said.

With one smooth motion, he scooped the fallen pillow from the floor and slipped it under his left hand to prop up his book, effectively making it his and taking away my projectile. I didn't have another one. Dammit.

"It is so. And talk about unfair. You took my pillow!"

"You threw it at me!"

"You deserved it," I said, setting the laptop and the granola bar on the cushion to my right.

I leaned over, one arm reaching out to snatch the pillow out from under his hand. He yanked it out of my reach, leaving me to ungracefully fall shoulder first in to the love seat. Our eyes connected, and the five-year-old that had died with Katie suddenly sprang back to life. I did the most immature thing a grown woman could do and stuck my tongue out at him. A grin spread across his face and I found myself blocking a brocade pattern.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, taking a page from Steve's book. Pushing myself up, I slapped the cushion beneath me and launched in to a standing position. Unable to stop the smirk that tugged at one corner of my mouth, I said, "That is it!"

Arms outreached, I lunged for the pillow, practically falling over his lap as he pulled it away. I could have sworn I heard him say no as I reached for it again, and I definitely heard him laugh when it slipped out of my reach. The cover of the book slapped down on to the coffee table behind me and the game was on.

"Not fair!" I said, frowning at his grinning face. "You have long arms!"

"They're not that long," he said, clearly teasing me.

"They are so," I insisted.

Without thinking, I straddled his lap, trying to reach the pillow that he was adept at keeping away from me. A new calmness rushed through me at the contact and was quickly wiped to the back of my brain as I focused on retrieving the pillow. He flipped his forearm behind the couch, leaving me to arch over him with a grunt and a few playful curses. It is surprisingly difficult to reach over someone's body and the back of the couch while trying to keep your boobs out of the person's face. I shifted to the side, coming a few inches from pressing the line of my chest against his tricep. My fingers brushed rough fabric before it was gone again. Steve lifted his chest in to me, his back arching as he used his other hand to stuff the pillow behind him.

"No!" I shouted.

I lowered myself to sit on Steve's thighs, my hands trying to dig the pillow out from behind him as he kept trying to catch them. I laughed, muttering that I just needed to get the pillow. I was having far too much fun with this, and by the chuckle that shook his shoulders, I'd say Steve was, too. He managed to grab one of my wrists, leaving me a nice big opening to grab the pillow. I yanked it from behind his back, holding it up and away with triumph.

"Ha!" I said.

One large arm wrapped around my back, and with a yelp I was flipped on to the couch cushions. My arms extended over my head to keep the pillow out of Steve's long reach.

"Give it back," he demanded.

"No," I replied.

In as quick of a motion as I could manage, I lifted my hips and shoved the pillow under my body, pinning it with both my weight and Steve's. This time I didn't even get to have a victory moment as he pressed my body in to his and lifted us both up, leaving the pillow free for him to grab while I recovered from my surprise. He was playing dirty, using his size and strength against me. Well, two could play at that game. Arm outstretched, I lashed out my power, tearing the pillow from his grip and putting it in my own.

"Mine," I said with a devilish grin.

"For now, maybe," he chuckled.

Staring down at that smiling face, I suddenly became very aware of the fact that my legs were wrapped around his waist and my body was pressed against his. My hand on his shoulder tensed with the realization. His arm around my waist loosened as realization flitted across his face. Apparently he'd lost himself in all the fun, too. Glad to know it wasn't just me. His hand slipped across my back until it rested on my side, making sure I didn't fall backwards on to the couch. Clearly, he was trying to hold up his end the bargain by not doing anything romantic, though it was obvious by the new tightness of his body that he really wanted to do something about the precarious situation we'd found ourselves in. This was super awkward.

Soft music pulled my attention from him, blessedly taking my mind off of my urge to crack a joke in order to make everything more bearable. Confusion wound through my brain, my brow furrowing as I tried to figure out what the hell that sound was. With a start, I realized it was one of the cell phones.

"Phone," I said to Steve's matching confusion, scrambling out of his lap.

I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time so I get to the phone before the call went to voicemail. Dropping to my knees by the duffel bag, I immediately started flipping over phones to find the one that was ringing. It was one of the smaller touch screen models. Sliding my finger over the screen, I answered the call and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I said in a sweet soprano.

Well, I had to make it sound like I wasn't an agent in case it wasn't Fury calling, didn't I? Yeah, I did. Or maybe I didn't, because Fury's monotone voice sounded through the receiver.

"Agent Ryan," he said, "you'd better have an update for me."

"Yes, sir, I do," I replied, ignoring Steve's steps on the stairs. "We've found Barnes, and think we know when and where he'll show up next."

"Good. Do you have an estimated date of arrival back at the base?"

Steve cleared the top of the stairs, giving me a questioning look. I lifted my finger to tell him to hold on a minute, then gave him a thumbs up to try to tell him everything was okay. He nodded before silently leaning against the door jamb.

"No, sir. Not yet. However, we do expect to have procured Barnes within a day or so. Once we make sure he's clear, we'll start back," I replied.

"There was a suicide at a hotel the day after you arrived in Pittsburgh. One that you stayed in. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" he asked, his voice seemingly requesting I tell the truth as he already knew the answer. Hell, if he'd had the presence of mind to pull up hotel records or look at the surveillance cameras, which he totally did, then I didn't doubt that he already knew the truth.

"Are you asking me if I know about it or if I had something to do with it?" I asked.

The line was silent for a second before I heard, "Sometimes I forget who I'm talking to with you, Ryan. I'm asking what you had to do with it."

I took that as the compliment it was, glad that I was among some of his smarter agents that knew to read between his lines. I also realized that it didn't take much to slip back on my professional hat. Within a few lines of dialogue, I'd already fallen back in to my typical thought patterns, thinking of everything in terms of a mission and not the personal search it had turned in to. That was another revelation. At some point I'd decided that finding Bucky was no longer my job, but simply me wanting to do something that made Steve happier. Shoving that thought in to my gut so I could explore it later, I answered my boss how I usually would.

"He was a Hydra agent. I threw him out of the window to protect Rogers and the mission. He was sent after us to obtain information about Barnes' whereabouts, but I fully believe that he'd have called more agents to bring me and Rogers in. Apparently, they're still gunning after Rogers' blood. Red Skull didn't leave his personal recipe. I'm guessing it was because he had some Indiana Jones, Ark of the Covenant crap going on with his face."

"I'm glad you kept The Captain safe," he said, ignoring my smartass remarks, "but don't drop anyone else unless you have to. The more their agents die, the more they'll try to kill you both."

"Yes, sir," I said.

The line clicked dead without Fury even grunting a goodbye and I set the phone back in the bag. Maybe I should keep it with me. Or maybe I could just run for it again since it was a good cardio workout. I stuck with the latter and turned to Steve, who'd pushed away from the door to come into the room.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

I was almost certain he still felt awkward about our little play fight. I know I did. Hell, I felt awkward from realizing that I cared so much about him that I'd made Barnes a personal mission rather than a professional one. What the hell was I doing with my life? Probably screwing it up.

"Yeah," I replied. "Fury just wanted an update and to tell me to minimize Hydra casualties. He's no fun."

"I could have told you to stop killing Hydra agents," he said.

"Neither of you are fun."

"Stop it," he chuckled.

"See?" I joked again. Sobering a bit, I added, "I get it. If I leave a trail of bodies, we'll be even more of a target. I want to keep you safe, so I'm gonna stop dropping bodies. Literally."

"Thank you," he said, the smile from his chuckle still in place. "I appreciate that."

"I know you do. Now, if you'll excuse me, Pillow Thief, there is a granola bar downstairs screaming my name."

With that, I slipped past him and headed for the living room.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Later that night I slid in to bed, still in my grey tank top and Slytherin pants. Steve and I'd had a nice night of watching movies and silently hanging out. I'd cooked dinner despite his adamant wishes that he do it instead. We'd compromised, with both of us agreeing that I'd cook tonight and he could cook tomorrow after he'd gotten better acquainted with the kitchen. It was kind of nice to just hang out with him, with minimal talking, minimal sexual tension, and absolutely no soul-baring moments. I could do without those moments. I was starting to grow as a person. Yuck. I'd once overheard Barton saying that you wanted to be a better person when you were around Steve. He was right.

I felt like I owed it to Steve, and for the perhaps the first time in my life, to myself, to become a better person, one who wasn't filled with self-loathing and completely skewed morals. I'd always be fucked up in some capacity, but I no longer wanted to be that person that hated themselves, or that kept everyone at arm's length because they didn't want to get hurt again. I wanted to let someone in. I wanted them to know the real me. The nerd, the book addict, the spitfire, the vulnerable woman, and the hard ass all deserved to have someone truly care about them again. I deserved to be cared for, and Steve had shown me that. Hell, he did care for me, despite my weird humor and mean streak. He'd seen pieces of me that I hid from everyone. That terrified the hell out of me, but it also felt nice. Especially since he hadn't run away screaming and he seemed to legitimately care about me. And I, somewhat begrudgingly since I was still fighting my emotions, cared about him.

I sighed at my thoughts of personal growth and potential romance, staring at the ceiling as I waited for sleep to come. I still couldn't completely believe that I'd starting giving up so quickly when it came to being attracted to Steve, but it seemed like a necessary evil. Well, not evil, but at least a nuisance. Either way, I didn't want to admit how I felt, but it needed to happen in order to keep us both safe.

Ugh, here we went again on the merry-go-round of never ending bullshit. Why couldn't I just let this go and stop thinking about it all the time? I was starting to feel like whatever he and I had between us was consuming me and changing me in to one of those annoying people who only lived for their relationships. I did not want to be one of those people. I had to put a stop to these ceaseless thoughts before they completely obliterated who I really was. I'd never gotten lost in a relationship before, and I sure as hell wasn't about to start now. In silent resignation, I told myself that I would never go through this stupid, useless cycle again. I was done. Now it remained to be seen if I'd stay done.

Darkness swiftly enveloped me after my self-scolding, and I soon found myself back in my apartment, sitting on black and red cushions with my legs propped in Steve's lap. A book with a blurred title was in one hand while his other hand rested on my shins. Looking down, I found that I had a book of my own. I took in our bodies, how comfortable we both were simply sitting there in silence enjoying each other's company. A thought zinged through my mind, spreading a glowing warmth through my body. This felt, it seemed, like domestic bliss, like we could and would do this for the next sixty years without getting bored of each other. My left hand slipped over the open pages of my book, and I saw that it was devoid of any rings, wedding, engagement, or otherwise.

To my surprise, a flash of disappoint tightened my gut. We felt so right together that it seemed wrong to not be at least engaged. But then again, you didn't need a ring or a marriage to prove how much you loved someone. Feeling better, I looked up to take in the delectable sight of Steve sitting on our couch, absent mindedly stroking my leg with his thumb.

Steve suddenly looked up at me, catching my eye with a smile that made my heart pound. It was one of his boyish smiles, the ones that made him look as if he'd never seen a day of sorrow. He obviously had, but when he was with me, those days didn't seem to matter as much. Ring or not, we were lucky to have each other, and we knew it.

Closing my book around my finger, I leaned forward to press my lips against his, my hand sliding through the back of his soft hair. When I broke away, he smiled down at me, slightly confused but ever so happy.

"I love you," I said.

Confusion flashed a bit brighter for a split second before vanishing completely under a loving grin that wrinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes.

"I love you, too," he said.

He leaned forward, his eyes on my lips, and I reached to meet him. Suddenly, he stopped, his body stiffening as he glanced toward the apartment door. I turned just as the jamb splintered and exploded through the room. Shattered bits of wood rained down on my floor. Steve was on his feet before I could so much as blink, the warmth of his skin gone to leave my fingers feeling like ice. Or maybe they felt like ice because the animated corpse of Katie sauntered through the door, her head still a horrifying ruin of blood, dirt, and ripped flesh. Hatred and anger blazed in her dark, cloudy eyes, and the gun in her hand pointed itself right at Steve.

Time slowed down, painful in how much of it I seemed to have to react, to hurl Steve out of the way. But really, I had none. I was helpless as I watched Katie's finger tightened around the trigger, squeezing it until an explosion flashed at the end of the barrel. The bullet cut through the air, seemingly to creep across the oxygen atoms around it, and a scream bubbled in my throat. Panic grabbed a hold of my heart and blood pumped so hard through my veins that I could hear the dull roar of it in my ears. It was happening again. I'd allowed him in and now I was going to lose him just like I'd lost Katie. Everyone I got too close to died. This was why I kept people at arm's length. It was all my fault. If I hadn't let him in, if I hadn't loved him, this wouldn't be happening. He would have been safe!

My lips parted as I turned my head, an agonizingly slow blink closing my eyes as I moved. I opened them just in time to watch the bullet part skin and ease his head back. The world sped up, moving normally again as his entire body jerked and fell limp. As he toppled to the floor, a fine red mist seasoning the air, the building scream burst from my throat.

I catapulted upright, the cry from my nightmare transferring in to reality to bounce off of the walls and hit my ears with a stab of pain. A cold sweat covered my body. Hair stuck to my face with an annoying tickle. My wide eyes darted around the room as if they were making sure I was in reality. As an extra measure of reality testing, I flung myself back on my bed and slapped a hand against the headboard. My fingers stung, ensuring me that I was no longer dreaming, and a groan trembled my lips.

"Seriously?" I muttered.

I was already over these nightmares. Especially now that they were incorporating Steve in to them. Flashbacks from hell were one thing; giving me something I apparently wanted and then violently snatching it away was another. And that was another thing. Why did my subconscious deem it acceptable to put me with Steve and let me unconditionally love him, then realize my biggest fears by almost literally shoving them in my face? I was being a dick to myself at this point. If I didn't fear a concussion, I'd go hit my head against the wall until I passed out, just so I didn't have to deal with this nightmare bullshit anymore.

The door swung open and I shot up again, my hand jerking from the headboard to instantly pull the gun from the holster I'd hung up. My thumb touched the safety just as I realized that the massive, shadowed body coming through the doorway was my very worried charge. Steve stopped moving the moment he realized a pistol was pointed at his head. A memory of the dream flitted through me, the image of Steve hitting the floor searing itself in to the backs of my eyes. It took everything I had to not throw the gun across the room. Instead, I dropped both it and my hand into my lap.

"Sorry," I said, my voice quite awake for someone who'd just woken up. Then again, I had woken up from a nightmare, so it wasn't exactly surprising. "I thought you were going to kill me."

"I can tell," Steve said.

Now that he wasn't at the business end of a nine millimeter, he seemed to think he was safe enough to sit on the right edge of the bed. Propping one leg on the mattress, he leaned forward to turn on the table lamp, blinding me for a half-second. I squinted at him through the harsh yellow light.

"What happened?"

I liked that he hadn't asked if I was okay. People, including me, just loved to ask that when others were clearly going through some shit. But not Steve. He was smart. I rubbed a hand over my face to loosen the sticky strands of hair and sighed.

"Another nightmare. Nothing special. Just your run of the mill bullshit. I'm fine," I replied. I was also a massive fucking liar, but he really didn't need to know that right now. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"I was already awake," he said, brushing off my apology. "You don't sound fine."

Dammit, I shouldn't be lying to him, even if it did make me feel better to not have to share my feelings. Fuck feelings, man. Life would be so much easier without them.

I winced to let him know just how hard this was for me and said, "I'm not, but I don't want to talk about it. Why were you awake?"

Steve gave me a small, appreciative smile. Good. He knew how difficult that had been. And clearly, I wasn't fooling him with the subject change, even though anyone with a peanut for a brain wouldn't be fooled after I'd said I didn't want to talk about my personal horror movie. Knowing why I was deflecting the conversation, he graciously obliged me.

"Nightmares," he said almost apologetically.

I immediately straightened. Worry laced through me at his admission. Suddenly, I had a new understanding of how he felt whenever I woke him up with my nightmares. It didn't seem right that such a good person should have to go through that special hell. Shifting my body so I could sit closer to him, my legs crossed under the covers and I shifted the gun so it didn't dig into my thigh.

"Are you okay?" I asked. See? I just had to ask that stupid question.

"I'm alright," he replied. "They just make it difficult to sleep sometimes."

Seeing as it was him saying it, I took it to be the truth. The man was more honest than Abe Lincoln. If he lied, something was severely wrong with the world. However, something was wrong with the world anyway if one of the nicest men in human history had to deal with a non-stop stream of crap. It only solidified just how much the gods weren't with us. Thor didn't count.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, a new softness coming to my voice.

"I guess one of us has to talk about our nightmares, right?" he said with an almost inaudible sigh, one corner of his mouth pulling in to a smirk.

"Not necessarily," I mumbled. Quickly, I added, "But if you want to, I'm all ears."

"It's okay," he said. His hand lifted from where it rested on the bed as if he were going to touch me, but he thought better of it. For a moment, I ached for that reassuring touch, and I let the feeling seep in to my bones before releasing it to the universe. I was getting better at this acceptance thing. "Sometimes I dream about the war. I can see the faces of everyone I killed and of everyone I lost. What's worse, sometimes I dream about not fighting anyone and I just feel…useless."

His blue eyes seemed to absorb the lamp light, becoming brighter despite the sorrow that swam in them. His gaze was so heavy that it made me uncomfortable to be under it and I fought to not squirm or look away. Instead, I rested a hand on his knee, mercifully making him look down. My reprieve was short lived as he flicked his eyes back up to me, appreciation seeming to make them glow. I pushed the thought that he was beautiful, as men could definitely be beautiful, from my mind and gave him a gentle, sympathetic look.

"You will _never_ be useless," I said. "You're amazing. And I know this is an old hat argument, but you can do whatever you want. You're not just physically strong. You're mentally strong and incredibly smart. A mind like yours can do anything. If I have to prove that to you every second we spend together, then I'll do it, because you should never have to feel that way about yourself ever again."

This time it was my eyes that bore in to his. Something behind his eyes shifted and he looked at the floor before I could tell what he was thinking. I let him have his moment, knowing how hard it could be to let someone see how truly vulnerable you were, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before I let my hand fall in to my lap. We sat in silence for a few seconds, me waiting for him to say something while he studied the patterns in the wood.

After what seemed like way too long of a time, he looked up at me and said, "You should take your own advice."

"Which part?"

"That you shouldn't feel the way you do," he replied. Oh. "I know how you feel about Katie. I felt the same way about Bucky. You did everything you could to save her."

"Except kill those commie bastards before they killed her," I frowned.

"You were following orders. You didn't know what they were going to do," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I never should have agreed to trying to negotiate with them. You know, we tell the public we don't negotiate with terrorists, but we do. We try to be diplomatic about it all, and in the end going along with that sugar-coated peace crap is what got Katie killed," I said bitterly.

"How do you know they wouldn't have killed her immediately if you'd opened fire on them? Or started tearing them apart? You know it doesn't take much strength or time to pull a trigger and, with the guns they had, they wouldn't have had to aim to kill her," he reasoned. "There was nothing you could have done."

I could have not joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but I didn't say that out loud. In my soul, I knew that I would have always joined S.H.I.E.L.D., that I would have always wanted to do something so much bigger than myself. Even knowing that Katie might die, that Hydra had infested the agency, and that I would constantly put myself in danger, I would always sign that slip of paper agreeing to be an employee.

I looked at my hands in my lap, watching them grasp and twist around each other over the shadow of a black pistol. That one, simple scene described who I was; a twisted, indecisive, emotionally susceptible person that always veered toward violence and fighting. Flicking one nail over the other with a little snap of sound, I sighed.

"You're right," I said, unable to look him in the eye. "But it's really difficult to let go. And since it's in the same vein as all of this, I guess I should tell you about my dream.

"Don't feel obligated to-"

"Too late," I all but scoffed. "I already feel obligated, and it's okay. You shared your nightmare. The least I can do is share mine. Besides, you have to put up with my crazy ass, so you should know what's going on in my head."

Managing a watered-down smile, I flicked my eyes up to him just long enough to see the worry and mild surprise etched in his features. I brought my gaze back down to my hands, suddenly finding the gentle curve of my nails to be incredibly interesting. Yeah, I didn't want to look him in the eyes for this next part. It was just too weird.

"I dreamed that Katie shot you in the head," I said. "Yesterday wreaked havoc on my brain, apparently."

"You're still worried that I might get hurt?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied with a shrug. "I'd be an idiot if I weren't worried. But it's more than that. I hate admitting it, but I do care about you, probably more than I've cared about anyone for a long time, and I don't want you to get hurt. But my brain is a dick and likes to show me exactly what I don't want to see."

"Or it's showing you the worst-case scenario so you don't have to worry so much," he offered.

"No, my brain knows how it works and it knows that I automatically take the worst-case scenario and obsess over it. In either case, it's a special brand of torture."

A large hand entered my field of vision, wrapping around my fingers to still their incessant motion. My skin tingled where we touched and my brain turned to mush, narrowing its scope to only focus on pale skin and warmth. My eyes lifted as Steve spoke and my mind expanded to drink in the sensations that were Captain America.

"I'm not going to get hurt," he insisted, leaning forward a bit to give his point more power. "I'm not going to get shot or killed. I promise."

"You can't pr-"

"I promise," he said more adamantly. His hand squeezed around mine, firm in its resolution. "I would never put either of us through that. You can stop torturing yourself, because I'm not going to die on you. Okay?"

Feeling like a small child, I nodded my understanding with wide eyes. I blinked a couple of times to ruin my own image of three-year-old Dani sitting on the bed looking for comfort, and swallowed.

"Thank you," I said.

A smile, soft and sincere, graced Steve's face as he said, "You're welcome. Thank _you_."

"Anytime." I gave him a smile in return before grasping his hand in mine.

He stood, not making even a hint of loosening his grip as he cupped my cheek with his free hand and bent himself down to kiss my forehead. He hesitated on his way back up, seemingly trying to decide if he would also kiss my lips. My hand tightened around his, anticipation singing through me with the possibility of it all. Apparently, he took the sudden stiffness as tension and discomfort rather than for what it was and straightened to his full height before releasing my hands. He gave me another smile as he headed for the door, and my heart sank a little as I realized I wanted him to stay.

I was almost too busy beating myself up for being so needy to hear him say, "Get some sleep."

With that, he walked in to the hallway, closing the door behind him. I was alone again, in my quiet room without the weight of his body on the bed, and I felt the loss in my soul. The horrifying realization dawned on me that I didn't just care about him. I was falling in love with him, and I was so screwed.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The next morning I was utterly exhausted. Sleep had been a pipe dream after both the nightmare and my revelation. My mind had gone back to the carousel of not-progress, constantly pointing out the impossibility of being in love, just how fucked my career was if I continued on this path, that it wasn't at all wrong to fall for Steve, and that it was completely wrong to fall for him. It had popped in to my mind that perhaps I could keep my job because I was such an asset to the agency; I was good for their bottom line of. I was a powerful female mutant, which covered quite a bit of their diversity needs, who kicked serious ass and was good with a computer and undercover work, which covered everything else. But the most important thing to come out of my hours of contemplation was that I was becoming more and more convinced that something bigger than both of us, be it mind-fuckery or Zeus being his usual dickish self, was responsible for everything.

Somewhere around eight o'clock my mind had set on what I had to do. Whether it would work or not was the question. And I really needed coffee before I did anything that might change my life or my soul. I was so tired I could sleep in the middle of a busy highway and not wake up, and I had a feeling that making big decisions in such a state was not the best thing for my wellbeing. Yes, I need my wake-up, anti-murder juice.

Around nine-thirty or so, I felt it was finally time to pull out of my reverie and get out of bed. Deciding that today was not a day for that blasted devil skirt, I put on a black pair of skinny jeans, my black combat work boots, a shoulder holster, and an army green t-shirt. Simple winged eyeliner and mascara completed the look. Draping my black moto jacket over my shoulder, I grabbed one of the throw away phones, shoved it in my back pocket, and headed downstairs.

Steve was already in the kitchen when I came down, sipping on a cup of coffee and searching through the fridge to find something to cook. I wasn't surprised. I'd heard him get up around seven-thirty and slip down the stairs as quietly as he could. He was pretty stealthy for a man of his size, but he was still massive and the floorboards tended to creak under all of that weight, completely giving him away in the silence of the morning. He was already dressed for the day, too, wearing a red and grey plaid button-down, flattering but not-too-tight jeans, and brown lace-up boots. It was very lumberjack chic.

As I threw my jacket over the back of the couch, he leaned down to search the bottom shelf of the fridge, giving me an exceptionally nice view of his backside. I couldn't help but admire the way the jeans hugged the length of his thighs and ass. It was, if I did say so myself, like a sexy train wreck that I couldn't take my eyes off of. Minus the horror. Well, maybe there was some horror because I shouldn't have been ogling, but I couldn't seem to bloody help it.

He shifted, breaking my concentration. Blinking rapidly, I found that I'd parted my lips so I could run my tongue along a too-sharp canine. Apparently, I'd been subconsciously thinking nefarious thoughts. My brain hated me. I was sure of it. Breaking my eyes away, I snapped my mouth shut and fought the urge to pinch my fingers over my eyes. I didn't want to ruin my makeup with a physical manifestation of my growing frustration.

Why was he so sexy?! Seriously, it wasn't fair to the rest of the world that he looked that good. I wasn't even sure it was fair to him since he was the one getting gawked at. Of course, I could just fucking control myself and not be one of the wide-eyed, open-mouthed fangirls, but I wasn't sure that was even possible when he was standing right in front of me in all his muscly glory. Ugh, why me? Why did I have to be the one that watched over him? Why was the universe so cruel?

Suppressing a groan of annoyance at myself and life, I stepped in to the kitchen to make my way to the coffee maker.

"Good morning," he said, not moving out from the cool embrace of the fridge.

"Morning. Finding everything okay?" I asked as I grabbed a mug.

"Eggs?" he asked.

"Top shelf to the right. The white plastic thing."

The sound of plastic sliding on plastic came from the fridge to mingle with the burble of liquid pouring into the cup. It was a homey combination of sound that made me think he would fit right in with my kitchen. I mentally slapped myself. No, he wouldn't look good in my kitchen. He would look...well, he would actually look good anywhere, but my kitchen wasn't special. Neither was my shower. I slapped myself again for the lecherous thoughts that kept rudely popping into my head and glanced at him as he took a step back from the fridge, carefully holding three eggs in one large hand. A package of bacon was held between his chest and his forearm, and his free hand swung the door shut.

"Thank you. Do you want anything?" he asked, moving around me to set the eggs and bacon on the counter by the stove.

"No, thank you," I replied.

"Just coffee, right?" he inquired.

A knowing smirk graced his lips. Man, we already had inside jokes and knowledge about each other. Eh, I guessed that happened when you spent time with someone twenty-four hours a day. I grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer so I could dump sugar in to my mug.

"Bingo," I said, tilting the spoon at him. "Need any help?"

"No," he said hesitantly. "I think I know where everything is, but if I need help, I'll let you know."

"Awesome sauce," I said as I put powdered creamer in the coffee and stirred. "I will get out of your way."

 _And go rectify our whole romantic situation without your knowledge and ultimately break your trust because I can't handle the thoughts I have about you,_ I thought to myself. Walking out of the kitchen, I took a sip of coffee, finding it sour on my tongue. Mother of fuck. Now my anxiety about this crap was so bad that I couldn't even enjoy coffee? What fresh hell was this?! My muscles tightened in disgust, my lip curling as I glared into my mug, apparently catching Steve's eye.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyebrows pinching together.

Two little creases formed above the bridge of his nose and the distinct thought that I wanted to run my thumb over them to smooth them out popped in to my head. My hands gripped the warming cup, as if revolting against the thought, even though my heart believed such casual touches were okay.

"Yeah," I lied. "I just put too much sugar in it. It's supposed to be a nice day, so I'm going to go sit on the porch. Yell if you need me."

I was almost certain that I saw a flash of unease in his eyes as I turned away. Did he know somehow, or was he just worried about me? Probably the latter. Ugh, I was going to hate myself for hurting him, but emotional pain would be easier to fix than the imminent physical pain he'd get from caring about me. It was too much of a liability. If Thompson was any indication, and he was, Hydra would wipe the floor with our feelings if they ever found out we legitimately cared for each other. I was saving him from torture. Right? Or was I just inflicting a different kind?

Guilt and fear were a cold ribbon in my stomach, swirling around and through my gut in icy tendrils. I wasn't saving him. I was saving me. It was torture on me to care about him, and it would be torture on him to have his feelings ripped away. Sure, he might not care that he'd lost them once it was over, but he'd still feel the sharp sting of betrayal. The ribbon wound its way up my esophagus, taking the form on words as it reached my tongue.

Before I knew what I was doing, I spun around and blurted out, "Can I run something by you?"

I told myself that this was the better way, that sneaking around behind his back would only cause more problems than it fixed. Granted, the noise that would inevitably be made throughout the ordeal would kill any semblance of secrecy. The Bifrost was not the stealthiest mode of travel, tending to sound like a tornado ripping apart metal. I was going to be found out either way, and at least this way he wouldn't be blindsided or lose his trust in me. It involved him, anyway. He should at least have some say in what should happen, even if, in the end, I ignored his wishes.

Steve straightened from getting a pan from a cabinet under the counter, turning to give me a worried gaze. Setting the pan on the stove, he placed a large hand against the countertop and leaned, propping himself up.

"Sure," he replied.

"I want to call Thor."

His spine pulled him to attention, almost painful in how straight it was, the muscles in his arm bunching as if he wanted to push away from the counter.

"What? Why?" he asked.

"I have this theory," I started. "It's probably completely insane-"

"Not more insane than you throwing fireballs," he interjected.

I gave him a look that told him to be quiet, and continued.

"It's probably completely insane, but it's the only thing that makes even a tiny bit of sense. So, in Greek mythology there's this legend that humans started out as these powerful, two-headed, eight-limbed monstrosities. They were so powerful that they could overthrow the gods, if they wanted to. Zeus, being Zeus, didn't like that, so he split the humans' bodies and souls in two, dooming them to be mundane shadows of themselves while they forever searched for their other half, otherwise known as their soulmate. I figured that if Thor is real and basically an alien from another realm, then maybe Zeus is the same way and humans just worshipped him because he had inhuman powers. And because we little freaks of inhuman nature have a wide abundance of crap we can do, I thought that maybe, if he existed, Zeus could have cast some sort of spell that fucked with humans like his mythological counterpart did."

He looked at me with silent regard and, thankfully, not like I was growing a second head, seeming to taste the possibility on his tongue. His free hand gripped his belt, and I had the thought that it was one of his more relaxed stances, one that he seemed to predominately use when he was thinking. Or maybe he just wanted a slight rest from carrying around those massive arms. Whatever worked.

"You want to ask Thor if Zeus is real," he said, making it a statement rather than a question.

I nodded. "And maybe get him to lift the spell."

Shoulders tensing, he let his hand fall from his belt in pained disbelief, like he couldn't believe I would sabotage our budding, weird-as-fuck relationship. It hurt to see him looking at me like that, but it was for the best that I did this. Yeah. If I kept telling myself that, maybe I'd be able to sleep at night. Not that I was doing that anyway.

"Yesterday you said you would work on accepting how you feel," he said, his brow furrowing to match the disappointment in his tone.

"I can accept something, but that doesn't mean I can't try to change it," I replied.

"That's exactly what it means," he countered.

"No. You can accept that you're at war or stuck in traffic, but that doesn't mean you have to like it or not try to change it. Acceptance doesn't mean you're okay with the situation. It just means you acknowledge that it's a real thing that's happening."

"The dictionary definition is that you believe or recognize an opinion, explanation, or something else to be valid or correct," he said.

How did he know that? Did he memorize the dictionary? How much did the man read? I mean, I was a book nerd, but this was ridiculous. I shook off the thoughts and continued, finding my argument in the folds of my brain.

"That's true. But it doesn't say you have to like it, and if you apply it to the examples I gave, if you're in the middle of a war, to say you're in a war is valid and correct and you're therefore accepting the situation, but you're still trying to end the war. Acceptance is kind of the middle ground between support and denial."

He paused, thinking about that for a moment before silently nodding his acquiescence.

"Alright, I get your point. I never thought of it that way. I don't agree, but I understand."

"I'm a Slytherin. Loopholes and odd logic are sort of my thing. Also, you just accepted my point as valid, even though you don't agree," I replied. "Anyway, I just want this to be fixed so we can go on with our lives."

I took a sip of needed coffee, staring in to my cup as I tilted it toward my lips so I didn't have to see the pain that settled into his features. I felt horrible telling him this, but I'd have probably felt worse going behind his back. Four days ago, I would have thought nothing of it, but now things were drastically different. Things like me and my morals. Jesus, had it really only been four days? It felt like it had been a month since we'd left the base. Gods, I couldn't want to go home so I could be out of this waking nightmare of skewed emotions.

"It doesn't need to be fixed," he said.

It turns out that I didn't need to look at him to feel more terrible. A hint of heartbreak was in his hard tone, as if even though he'd tried by putting on a tough front, he couldn't manage to hold back his real feelings. He was too honest for that, and it hurt. My pulse faltered and I closed my eyes, trying to steel myself against the rock in my gut and the ache in my soul. Gods, I _was_ torturing him.

"It does for me," I replied, nervously tapping my nail against the ceramic. "I have no control over the situation, or even a concrete explanation, and it bugs me. I like control. I like to know the reasoning behind things. And more than anything, I want to keep you safe, and I still don't feel like I can do that when this…whatever it is, is riding me like I'm a fucking horse."

Managing to find my courage, I looked up at him, and I wished I hadn't. He looked like I'd told him I'd shot Santa. If I didn't know any better, which, let's face it, I didn't, I'd say I was crushing his dreams. Or at least his hopes. I had to make this better, make it an easier pill to swallow, even if it might be a lie in the end.

"Look at it this way," I said, stretching out an imploring hand. "If Zeus is real and is the cause of this but can't remove the spell, at least he can tell us how to manage it so we don't get killed. Maybe he can even put in a block of some kind so it'll go away when we're in danger."

"We're managing it just fine," he argued.

"No, _you're_ managing it fine. _I'm_ barely able to function as an agent, let alone as a human being," I said. "You have to understand, I've never been in love. I don't know how to deal with this. This is brand new territory for me and it's happening during the second most stressful job of my life. I'm trying to keep you safe from an entire Nazi organization, I'm trying to find Barnes and then keep him alive, I'm trying to keep me alive and my powers out of the public eye, _and_ I'm swimming through emotional rapids."

Now Steve was staring at me like I had two heads, his eyes boring into me as if he could see into my brain and pick out each, individual connection it made. It made me uncomfortable and I fought the urge to take a step back. Instead, I took another drink.

"You love me?" he asked, seemingly perplexed, and Gods help me, slightly hopeful.

I sucked in a gasp of surprise, instantly regretting it as coffee tried to go down my windpipe. I sputtered into my coffee, using my tongue and throat to keep myself from choking before swallowing painfully. Coughing, I pressed a hand to the back of my mouth so pieces of lung didn't end up on the floor, and I shook my head. I could hear his booted feet quickly approaching me to make sure I was okay, and I waved him off. My spine straightened as he retreated, my body having folded in on itself during the coughing fit. That had sucked.

"No," I croaked, telling myself I wasn't completely lying as I was only falling in love and not entirely there. "No, it was… it was just a saying. Semantics. What am I supposed to say? That I've never been in romantic care?"

"Yes," he replied. "You just showed me how much you care about semantics."

Dammit. Sometimes I wished he were an idiot. That would make everything, especially arguing, so much easier. I held back an internal sob of frustration and sighed instead.

"Fine. You're right. I take the love thing back and change it to romantic care. But enough of that. What do you think? Do you think it would be a good idea to call Thor and learn what's actually going on or should we stay in the dark?"

Steve took a deep breath, puffing his chest out against the poor button down that threatened to pop open. I lifted my mug to my lips, hoping I could lift it in time to block any incoming buttons from hitting my eyes. My powers didn't work that well with projectiles. Damn it all.

"We'll call him when we get back to New York," he said, blessedly letting the breath out to give the buttons a break.

I took a sip of my coffee to mask the fact that I'd been using it as a shield, ignoring the fact that my throat still hurt a little from coughing, and lowered the mug to press against my chest. My distaste for waiting tried to curl my lip and settled in to my eyes, and I stared at Steve in annoyance.

"By the time we get back to New York, everything will be over," I stated, miffed.

"Or it will be the beginning," he pointed out, turning back to the pan and clicking on the stove's dials. "Hydra won't stop just because we went back to New York. They might increase their efforts once they know where Bucky is."

"But I won't be helping you by then, and we won't be working together. Not as much, anyway."

"Why not? If Fury put you on the case, why wouldn't he keep you on it until Bucky and I were in the clear?"

Crap! He was right. It was beginning to tick me off. I rubbed a hand over my forehead and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push away a growing headache. Why did he have to be right all the time? Seriously, if he could just dumb it down for ten minutes, I would be so happy.

"Okay," I muttered. "You have a point, but we won't be together all the time like we are now, unless Fury has us all move in together, which would just be weird."

"He probably will."

"And I'll fight it. No offense."

"Only a little bit taken," he replied, forcing a small smile to show he was only partially joking.

He held his hand over the pan to check it is was hot enough, and deeming it fine, cracked an egg against the counter. The second and third cracks vibrated through the air as I took a gulp of cooled coffee. I think I was using it to calm myself down. It wasn't a drink; it was a hug.

"I think we should do it today," I said.

"It's too late in the day," he stated, shaking his head, his eyes never leaving the eggs as he reached for the spatula hanging over the stove.

"It's ten o'clock!" I exclaimed.

"We have to leave by two so we can get to the park, and after we get Bucky, we're leaving. Thor is good, but I don't think we can call him, get him down here, have him talk to Zeus, and then come back within four hours. I know he can't land on a moving car. Not anymore. Asgard is a kingdom and comes with all of the political diplomacy of one. He'll have to navigate it correctly so he doesn't start a war. That takes time."

"How do you know that?" I asked, scrunching up my face with confusion and a hint of fascination.

"Thor told me. So we agree that we'll call him after we get back to New York?"

"Yes," I all but grumbled, holding back another sigh. "But we're calling him as soon as we get to the base and update Fury. No later. Unless we get attacked."

"Deal," he said.

Well, at least he wasn't fighting me on it. Seeing that the conversation was over, I turned, ignoring the minimal amounts of cold coffee in my mug as I went toward the front door. I didn't want to be near Steve right now, even if it was to get more caffeinated goodness. I wasn't sure why. Maybe I was upset with myself and placing it on to him, or maybe I just needed my introvert "me time," or maybe I was just scared that something too sensual would happen, or maybe I was just scared that he'd touch me to calm me down. Whatever the case, I had to get out of the house.

"Dani?"

Oh, my god, I just wanted to go sit on the porch. I held back my initial groan and the following sigh, setting my shoulders a bit higher as they wanted to slump, and turned back once again. He was still standing in front of the stove, his hips less than an inch from the oven door handle, his head turned so he could stare at me.

"Hmn?" I said.

"Were you going outside because you were going to call Thor?" he asked.

Well, I'd been honest so far. "Initially, yes."

His lips parted in surprise. Apparently, he hadn't expected me to be honest. I didn't blame him. Or maybe he was just shocked that I had the audacity to go behind his back in the first place. Again, I didn't blame him.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I appreciate it more than you know."

"You're welcome," I replied with a dim smile. "What good am I as a bodyguard if I'm not honest with you?"

What good was I as a person if I wasn't honest with him? I clapped my hand against my mug and turned around one last time, not waiting for his answer. He didn't see fit to give one. I finally passed through the foyer and stepped out into the chill of the day.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

The next four hours passed by quickly for me, my mind deciding to pass the time by coming up with various hellacious scenarios that made my blood run a touch cooler. My paranoia was both the worst and best thing to happen to me. I couldn't walk outside without thinking I was going to be brutally murdered, but I always had a way to get out of being killed. Which meant I had a way, or ten, for each possible gut-wrenching plot created by Hydra to be thwarted in order to keep me, Steve, and Barnes alive. At least, I hoped so.

Even though I'd been plagued by anxiety, I was certain the passage of time hadn't been nearly as kind to Steve. Tension thrummed through his shoulders and arms, cording the muscles with each tiny movement, which were harsh and jerky rather than the almost cat-like grace he usually moved with. I'd have bet my entire bank account that those four hours had felt like twelve years. Waiting for something you desperately wanted, or feared, was a bitch. Each minute seemed like an individual eternity, mocking you with sixty seconds of almost unblinking pain.

We'd gotten ready upstairs, with me hiding numerous guns and knives on my person since I'd felt the shoulder holster wasn't enough, and with Steve testing whether or not his shield would fit under a jacket. It hadn't. My grandmother, being the weirdo she was seeing as that was a requirement for my family, loved big purses because you, and I quote, "never knew what you were going to need." You know, like the kitchen sink or the Taj Mahal. I was surprised she hadn't broken her damn back with how big the things were. I'd managed to find one that could hold the Eiffel Tower and the heavy shield. It was old, but not unfashionable, and I knew she didn't use it anymore from how much dust had settled on it. She wouldn't miss it if Steve ripped it while getting his shield.

At the last second, I decided to glue a realistic auburn wig on my head as a disguise, and we were on our way. They might recognize Steve, but it was going to be a touch more difficult to recognize me, meaning I could still do my job without instantly being shot. If we got out of this alive, that is.

I drove, opting to let Steve mentally prepare himself without the added hassle of operating a two-ton vehicle. The car was silent except for the sound of wind whipping against metal and tires spinning on asphalt. I didn't think music would help either of us at this point, and I knew the music that would usually help me would hinder Steve. I glanced over, finding him staring out of the window with his elbow on the window sill, his forearm bent back toward him. He looked forlorn and hopeful at the same time, and I wondered what was going on in his head. What hell was he unleashing upon himself?

"It's going to be okay," I said, not quite sure if I believed it myself.

"I'm not so sure," he replied.

"Neither am I," I admitted, "but I'm trying to make you feel better. And besides, it's more than likely a good thing if he's giving you signs to come meet him."

"Yeah," he breathed. "What if he's different?"

"He is different," I replied, looking behind us to see if I could change lanes. "He's spent seventy years being Hydra's bitch. That's probably messed with his mind, but he's still going to be Bucky, the kid that insisted on running when you broke a window but who stuck with you anyway. He's changed a bit. You just have to get to know him again. View it as an adventure, not a hindrance."

I felt Steve's eyes on me as I took an exit, and I spared him a glance, confused as to why I suddenly felt like I was under a microscope.

"What?" I questioned.

"Sometimes you surprise me," he said. "I never seem to know what you're going to say."

"Probably because you can't read minds and I can't make up my mind," I offered.

A small, weary smile, pulled up his lips and vanished. "Yeah. Probably."

Okay, this might be helpful. Maybe he was getting tired of me pushing him away and then pulling him back in. I knew I was tired of it, but dammit, my feelings towards him confused the hell out of me. When I couldn't control something or figure something out, I tended to get angry and lash out. It was a character flaw that I had no idea how to fix. Therapy, maybe? A lobotomy? The good drugs the men in white coats gave you? I didn't know, but I did know that my controlling, perfectionist bullshit was currently making my job and this relationship way more difficult than they had to be. Regardless of why it was happening or how I could fix it, maybe if he got fed up enough, he'd drop my loony ass like a ton of bricks and never have impossibly intense romantic feelings toward me again. Eh, I could dream.

Apparently done with the two-minute conversation, Steve went back to staring out the window, looking pensive and serious. The wheels in his head seemed to be turning so fast that I was waiting for smoke to start pouring out of his ears. I almost said something so I could get him out of his head, out of what had to be swirling thoughts about Bucky and what Steve might say when he finally found his friend, but I figured he needed it. Even if it didn't work in the end, sometimes rehearsing what you were going to say helped. Sometimes it led to crippling anxiety, but Steve just didn't seem like that kind of guy. I mean, he had nightmares, but that seemed to be the most of his mental troubles. "Seemed to be" were the key words there. Should I say something so he didn't stew in his troubles? Should I open my mouth and possibly destroy whatever progress he might have been making?

My questions never quite got answered, as I turned the corner to find the park sprawled out in front of us. Now I was forced to break his concentration, whether I wanted to or not.

"We're here," I said, leaning forward to glance up at the buildings looming over the park. "Do a visual sweep while I park."

I didn't think I had to tell the guy who'd broken into Nazi bases to do a basic tactical task, but fuck it, I wanted to feel like I was controlling something. He didn't so much as nod before nonchalantly looking all around us, mentally marking exits, entries, sniper spots, and checking to see if any Hydra goons were lurking about looking shady. I pulled into a parking space overlooking the small, unnaturally flat green island placed smack dab in the middle of a concrete jungle. Not feeling like roasting to death in my disguise, I left the car and the air on.

Yes, despite it being cool enough for a jacket, I would have turned into a pile of sweat in the thirty minutes we'd spend in the car. The auburn wig alone was enough to make anyone damp if they wore it for too long. The real leather jacket didn't help. Steve seemed like he would get warm, too, seeing that he had on two layers of zip-up hoodies and a hat. Man, disguises that were battle ready were always hotter than balls in the Mojave. We were lucky it wasn't warm outside.

My eyes swept over the park, taking in each person that was milling about, whether they were in the park or not. There didn't seem to be anyone here that looked as if they were immoral Nazi asshats. That was good. Meant that they hadn't caught on yet. As I'd suspected, the buildings were a problem. I didn't think anyone would use one of the roofs, as they looked to be too high up to get an easy shot off. Holding a sniper rifle became much more difficult when you were pointing it almost straight down, which they would have had to do. The buildings were just too tall and too close. That left us with a plethora of windows, from many of which we would have no proper cover. I could also clearly see the bench we'd decided to sit on, and it was halfway across the park. Not good.

I really didn't like this. The bus depot was farther away than it had looked online, and there were too many innocent people for my comfort, _and_ we were sitting fucking ducks. If we got out of this alive, I was kicking both Steve and Barnes' asses for getting us into this clusterfuck nightmare.

"Thoughts?" I asked, unbuckling my seat belt.

"It's too open," Steve replied. He unbuckled his seatbelt too, looking over his shoulder to check the store fronts. He turned back around, and I could just imagine his eyes picking up each little detail as they danced around, the image cobbling itself together in pieces like something you'd see in a sci-fi movie. "We'll have to do this quickly. If Hydra finds us, we won't have much to use for defense. And there are too many people."

"Yeah, I thought the same thing," I said. "So, plan of attack. I'm still thinking we use the bench under that tree, like we'd planned, but I suggest that we don't get out of the car until we see someone who looks like they could be Barnes."

"What if he's on the other side of the park?" he pointed out. "Even the bench is too far away to see someone's face. We'll never be able to tell who he is."

"Fair point," I said. I looked at the GPS/radio system on the console of the car. Maybe it had some fancy gadget that would help. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle, after all. I pressed a button and said, "Keep an eye out."

I fiddled about with the touch screen, scrolling through the pages of it for a few seconds before I remembered that it had interactive voice recognition software that'd been too much of a ditz to turn on. I went back to the menu screen and turned on the helpful little tool. I thought it was stupid that you had to manually turn it on, but it _was_ an older model.

"Find magnification," I said, straightening up to sit back in my seat.

Steve gave me a quizzical look before a male voice rose through the speakers and the touch screen showed a magnifying glass, just waiting to be used.

"Run magnification on human faces. Run facial recognition for James Barnes," I ordered.

"Running magnification and recognition for James Barnes," the computer said.

The console glowed as it filtered through the faces of the people surrounding us, rapidly discarding everyone it didn't deem Barnes-worthy.

"Problem solved," I said.

Steve studied the way the computer sifted through the people's faces, his eyes flicking to cross check it with the people outside.

"It's not finding everyone," he frowned.

"It can only check what the car's cameras are seeing and there are blind spots. This is an older model so it can't hack into the surrounding surveillance cams. It's not perfect, but it works. Besides, I doubt Barnes will stay exclusively on one side of the park. If he wants you to find him, he'll roam around or stick to the middle, which is definitely close enough for the car to see him," I explained.

He seemed to accept that, taking it in stride as he couldn't change it and knew it would work. Oh, how I envied the way he could let go of things. He still looked somberly thoughtful, though, as he glanced out of the windshield to aid me in making sure we weren't going to get ambushed as soon as we stepped out of the car.

"You can call him Bucky," he said.

Well, that just came out of the blue.

"No, I already broke that rule for you," I replied. "I'm not doing it for someone I've never met."

"Why is that a rule again?"

"First names and nicknames make things too personal," I stated. "And we've seen just how personal it became with you."

"But you think something else is going on with us," he countered.

"That doesn't mean I want to risk it happening again."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me, saw the question in his eyes of if it were possible that I could care about someone as quickly and as deeply as I cared for him, especially his best friend. I could have sworn I saw a tiny flash of jealousy, quickly squashed under a flood of reason, before he turned away. Okay, maybe he wasn't getting tired of me. Ugh, I wanted to knock myself unconscious with the steering wheel so I didn't have to deal with this for at least five minutes.

Suddenly, a new tension shot through Steve's body, excitement and worry zinging through him. It pulled him straight in his seat, and I followed his eyes to a lone person moseying through the middle of the park in a tan jacket and dark hat.

"That's him," he said.

I squinted, unable to make out anything that said we were looking at The Winter Soldier.

"How do you know?"

"I just do," he said, hand on his door handle.

I reached out to stop him, apprehensive and cynical that he could simply tell it was Barnes and not some shmuck in a baseball cap.

"I don't think we should- "

The car cut me off with a musical bling of sound, the screen zooming in on the man's face.

"James Barnes detected," it said.

My face fell, nearly blank save for the annoyance of being wrong.

"So much for not being able to tell who he is, huh? Why did we even need that thing?" I asked, looking at Steve as I turned the car off.

He didn't respond. Instead, he got out of the car, not waiting for me to do my bodyguard duty and make sure he didn't get shot upon exiting. I knew he'd looked around first to make sure that didn't happen, but that didn't mean I was glad he'd been so brazen. Cursing his eagerness, I got out of the car, too, meeting him at the bumper so I could take his hand. Tingles flared where I touched him, spreading up my arm to tickle my heart, making it pump a little bit faster. Again, Steve didn't say anything, immediately accepting the boyfriend/girlfriend ruse so many male and female agents fell back on. His hand tightening around mine made me think he'd also immediately accepted the way it felt when I touched him, and I envied him a little bit more.

The thoughts of mild jealousy and attraction fell away to cold tactical planning, to calculating my every move so they seemed natural while we walked toward the gravel path. I was very glad I hadn't worn heels. I probably would have slipped and broken my neck, and if I didn't, I'd be so busy concentrating on not falling that I would miss important things around me. Important things like Barnes sitting down on the bench and positioning himself right in front of the tree so no one could shoot him in the back. He leaned back in the seat, looking all around as if he were simply taking in the scenery. Steve and I were doing the same, looking around as if we'd never been there before, but I think he glanced at Barnes just a little too often.

"He sees us," he said suddenly.

I glanced at Barnes just in time to see him look away from us, his eyes going to the full branches of the tree above him. We were getting closer, and I felt adrenaline wash through me, making my heart race. It wasn't just that I was expecting an attack. I was excited. Steve would finally be able to move on. He would no longer have to spend every waking moment wondering if Bucky remembered him or if he was even alive. For better or worse, now he would know for sure, and he was more than likely going to get his friend back.

When we were almost of top of him, angling ourselves to step off the path, he looked at us again, and a small smile found his lips. He was, universe help me for saying this generic crap, ruggedly handsome. Light stubble was a shadow on his jaw. A dimple in his chin was both cute and sexy, making the rounded line of his jaw seem a bit sharper. Bright blue eyes peeked out from under thin eyebrows, set above a slightly wide nose. His lips were just this side of full. Brown hair was expertly tucked into a dark blue baseball hat, making it look as if he truly had short hair. Yep. Definitely handsome. I could only imagine how many women had fawned over him.

I squeezed Steve's hand for encouragement, letting him know I was there and that everything was okay.

I gave Barnes a half-real sweet smile as we took a couple of steps closer. "Excuse me, sir," I said, my voice high and lilting, "may we sit here?"

"Of course," he replied, scooting himself across the bench so Steve and I could sit together.

His voice was deeper than I'd expected, almost too low for his body. I had the distinct thought that, though I loved Steve's voice, they should have probably switched as Barnes' bass suited the larger man better. It was funny how voices and body sizes worked.

"Thank you," Steve said, putting layers of meaning into the simple statement.

We sat, with Steve sitting next to Barnes and me on the other side, the purse settled in my lap. I could feel that Steve wanted to break the ice, and his cover, and ask his pal how he was doing, what he remembered, and if he was okay. The nervous energy coming off of him, combined with an odd sense of wanting to impress Barnes' for Steve's sake, made me feel awkward, as if I were trying to pass the girlfriend test rather than procure a missing person.

"I'm Jim," Barnes said, breaking the thick silence.

He held his hand out to shake, and Steve couldn't quite seem to move, so I took it instead. He had gloves on, probably to cover the one metal hand he had so he could better hide in plain sight. His hand was firm, but not metallically so, and it didn't send a surge of tingles up my arm. Thank the fucking gods. Universe. Whatever.

"I'm Melissa," I said. "This is Chris. It's nice to meet you. Thanks for letting us use your bench."

"You're welcome," he replied, flashing his white teeth with a charming grin. "I did buy it so others could use it."

"How philanthropic of you," I joked.

I released his hand and Steve let go of my hand to give Barnes' a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

The struggle in him was palpable, and I felt bad for having to force him into a role. I just didn't know if someone was watching or listening in with one of those parabolic audio dishes, and we couldn't add any extra risk. This was bad enough already.

"You, too," Barnes said, pulling back.

Steve let go, blessedly not letting the reluctance in his eyes travel to his hand. His hand slipped back into mine, and I got the distinct feeling that it wasn't just for show. Confirmation came when his thumb started stroking the back of my hand and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

"What brings you two to Philadelphia?" Barnes asked, looking the question of our real relationship at us.

"We're visiting um… Melissa's family," Steve replied.

The lie did not roll off his tongue the way I wanted it to. It was cringe-worthy and hard to listen to, but at least he was trying. I jumped in, hoping a well-executed fib would salvage the bit of cover we'd lost.

"Yeah, we've been dating for a while, so we figured it was about time for him to meet the folks. How about you? Do you live here?"

"No," he replied. "I'm visiting a friend."

Well, he wasn't wrong.

"Is this your first time here?" Steve asked.

"Yep," Barnes nodded. His eyes suddenly scanned the area around us settling back on me and Steve. "Do you know any good restaurants around here?"

There was the cue to leave. Thank fuck. I perked up, looking excited to tell someone not from Philly what good eats there were in my township.

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "There's a great little café on the corner of…You know, what? It's just easier to take you there. Right, babe?"

"Yeah, it'd be no trouble at all," Steve added.

"Thank you. That's kind of you," Barnes said, moving to stand up.

"This is the city of brotherly love!" I exclaimed.

I looked around us as Steve and I followed Barnes' example, gripping his hand a little tighter when I spotted none other than Cherry Wood walking around the perimeter of the park. How'd they get here so fast? Had Barnes' moves really been that predictable? Yes. Yes, they had. It didn't take a genius to figure out a triangle pattern.

"We have company," I said, keeping my eyes on the agent just long enough for the men to see him. I dropped Steve's hand, taking a couple of steps toward the path. "We should get going."

The men calmly followed, and I wondered if they had the same instinct to run to the car so we could speed away. Probably. Even heroes and badasses had to fight the urge to haul ass out of a dangerous situation. The fact that they tended to run toward thing that would probably kill them is what made them heroes and badasses.

We were about halfway to the car when a large blond man in a thick black jacket stepped in front of us on the path. The way he stared us down, like a snake eyeing prey, made all of us stop in our tracks. I looked to my right and found Cherry Wood closing in on us. Two goons settled in behind us, and a quick glance confirmed that two more people had menacingly placed themselves on our left. We were surrounded.

"Captain. Sergeant Barnes. It's good to see you," the man in front of us said, his voice falling flat. "It would be easier for everyone if you came quietly."

"I never liked easy," Steve replied.

"I never liked making things easy for other people," Barnes' added.

Snake Eyes, as I was now going to call him, looked at me as if he were waiting for me to say something witty. Or maybe he was wondering who I was and why I was there. Whatever the case, he was staring at me expectantly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Not wanting to disappoint him or break the chain, I said, "I just hate you."

He smiled, a wicked baring of teeth that made it look like he'd ravaged bloody flesh before. "Not yet, you don't."

The circle converged, looking like they were about to rush us. I felt Steve grab the bag on my shoulder, and I let it slip from my arm into his hands, my free hand pulling my gun from the shoulder holster as the fabric of the purse ripped. The barrel settled on Snake Eyes. Steve was at my shoulder, his back to mine as he stared down the men on his side of the circle, the shield presumably lifted to protect his torso. Barnes was at my other shoulder, his back to me and Steve, a gun in his hand pointing at Cherry Wood. The sound of metal settling into hands echoed through my ears. We were outnumbered _and_ outgunned. I would have felt absolutely horrible if the Hydra agents hadn't been complete morons. Any tactician worth their salt knew you never made a circle when everyone had guns. After all, bullets can't tell who's an ally and who's not.

"You shoot, you die," Snake Eyes said, his gun fixed on my forehead.

"So do your precious kidnapping victims," I pointed out. "And so do you. I _will_ take you with me."

"Shoot her," he sneered.

I don't know what made me say it, or how it even popped into my head, but before my brain-to-mouth filter could even turn on, I blurted, "I'm pregnant."

I felt Steve turn to stone beside me, and Barnes fidgeted anxiously. Yeah, this was uncomfortable. Poor Steve had to think about the woman he liked being knocked up with a kid that definitely wasn't his, and Barnes had to think about his best friend having a baby right after they'd reconnected. And of course he would think Steve was the father, what with our little show and all. This was a complete clusterfuck now. Why did I say that?!

"Hold!" Snake Eyes exclaimed, his hand going up to stay itchy trigger fingers.

Shocked grey eyes regarded me, looking me up and down, seeming to think about the implications of an already seemingly dangerous female protecting her unborn child. He flicked his eyes to Steve, who was unnaturally still beside me. The urge to comfort my charge with a steady hand stiffened my shoulders.

"The Captain's?" Snake Eyes asked.

"Yes."

He lifted his chin at my answer. The wheels turned in his head, and I suddenly knew why I'd come up with a lie that scared the hell out of even me. It was a brand-new lifeform with the DNA of a super solider. It could be raised and molded to Hydra's will. They could have a trio of genetically and physically altered murder machines. If they found out I had powers, it would only cement in their minds just how fantastic this arrangement could be. At least until the pregnancy test came back.

"Take them alive," he said. "All of them."


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Bodies rushed forward, opting for brute strength rather than firearms. I didn't want to fire my gun with so many people around, but I didn't think I had a choice anymore. Three people could easily take on six, especially when two were damn near impossible for a simple human to physically overpower without the help of a potentially deadly weapon, but why waste time with a long fight? We had to get the hell out of here before the Hydra idiots called for backup.

I squeezed my trigger, sending a bullet into Snake Eyes' neck, my ears ringing as Barnes' fired right next to me, dropping Cherry Woos to the ground. A woman screamed, a shrill sound that gave way to terrified shouts. My left hand lifted my shirt, grabbing my second gun out of my inner-pants holster just in time to shoot a man in the chest. He didn't stop coming. He had on a fucking bulletproof vest. Headshots it was, then.

He came too close, swinging a meaty fist at me. I couldn't move backward without running into Steve or Bucky, so I ducked out of the way, doing an uppercut with my right hand, smashing the barrel of the gun under the man's chin as he followed through with his swing. I don't think he had time to register that the fight was over before a bullet splattered his brains into the leaves overhead.

He dropped, and my heart skipped a beat. More people, well hidden among the bystanders, came running forward, guns wielded. How had we not seen them? I thought they were horrible at blending in, but I guess if you had to infiltrate major government corporations, you had to be able to hide in plain sight. Dammit.

A man yelled as Steve flung him away and used his shield to smack another in the face.

"We've got incoming!" I announced, dropping a couple of agents with well-placed shots.

"Take them alive!" the thrown man shouted from the dirt.

I wanted to say something witty like an 80's action hero, something like "Take this," but I just ended up shooting the guy instead. Good thing, too, because a new guy, one in a blue button-down, came at me, fist at the ready. Instinctively, I ducked out of the way and swung my gun around, only to have it knocked out of my hand. I awkwardly angled my other gun up and emptied a round into his head. Or I would have, if a fist hadn't come out of nowhere to hit me in the face. I stumbled to the right, moving away from Steve and Bucky so I could have room to fight without falling into them.

The man ran at me, too close and too fast for me to lift my gun. I could try to shoot him in the leg, but I had limited ammo, way too many enemies, and way too many civvie witnesses for me to use my powers. He swung at me again, and I caught his arm before it connected with my face. My left hand put his wrist in a vice grip, twisting it hard and straight, and I sent a fist into his locked elbow. His arm bowed out with a pop and an agonized yell tore his throat. I thrust my arm out, reared back, and pulled his nose into the butt of my pistol. With a cry of pain, he toppled backwards. I shot him in the head before he could get back up.

I got a split second to see Steve launching his fist into one guy's face before spinning to plant a foot into another man's chest. Both flew backwards away, the first guy falling in front of Barnes, who promptly put a bullet in the agent's head. I moved forward to join ranks again, scooping up my fallen gun.

The Hydra agents were still coming. Gods, there were so many of them! I guessed they knew they'd have a fight on their hands with Barnes, but holy shit, it was like half of the organization was out here! Okay, maybe not that much, but still. I was able to down another three people before I looked to the right for more incomings, and saw a young couple at an outside cafe pinned down by Barnes' fire, too scared to move even though Barnes landed every shot with precision. The front window of the place was shattered, though, probably from a stray bullet or two from the beginning of the fight. The shadows of frightened people huddled on the floor, hiding behind flimsy tables, shuttered and moved, unable to keep themselves from jumping with each bang. Expert marksmanship or not, there were too many civilians. I wouldn't put it past Hydra agents to use innocent people to get the men to stand down.

"Cover me!" I called, emptying another few bullets into a woman in a pantsuit and a guy in an Eagle's jersey.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, slamming a fist into a guy's throat.

"Something you'd better love me for."

My guns dropped to my side as Barnes finished emptying a clip into a couple of new people. I reached into the back of my mind, grabbing hold of the smoking, white hot tendrils of power coiled there. With a thought, I sent them out, sent them slithering through the air, searching for something to grab on to. I latched them on to the empty buses at the depot. The ribbons wrapped around the buses, lifting them, steadying them so I could pull them in. I raised them above the heads of the people running around like scared hens, weaving them through the wide spaces between the trees. I could hear surprised shouts rising on the wind from agents and civilians alike, the sound mingling with the smell of spent gunpowder and the taste of my blood. The buses locked in to place around us, trapping us in a large circle with a number of confused agents. Anyone else who wanted to get in would have to climb or drop from the trees, and at least this way the civilians were safe from stray bullets.

It didn't look like we were safe from any bullets. Guns were starting to come out again, barrels leveling on us. Either they hadn't heard the original order or they were done having their asses handed to them. Sucked to be them.

Steve and Bucky fell back into the tight triangle. Bucky had a new gun in his flesh hand, one shimmering with fresh blood. I was assuming both the blood and the gun weren't his. I spared a glance at Steve. He was fine, with only a few blood drops, not his own, spotting his skin.

"You want to tell them your news?" Barnes asked.

"I doubt they care at this point," I replied. "Plus, they can make a new baby."

Both men stiffened beside me as a new surge raced toward us. Bullets zinged through the air, bouncing off vibranium and a metal arm only to rip through the bellies and backs of the steel monsters surrounding us. We moved away from each other, with Barnes shooting and punching who he could, Steve slamming his fists and feet into anyone who got too close, and me firing my gun like a crazy person. It took less than a minute for me to run out of bullets and I didn't have enough cover to reload.

I growled in frustration as the guns fell from my hands, dropping down and rolling to dodge a spray of bullets. I stopped next to a bloody body, one with a gun in a shoulder holster. My hand grabbed the weapon and I rolled, taking the dead man with me as I lay him on top of me like a shield. Bullets thumped into the body, miraculously not going completely through. My thumb clicked off the safety and I rolled again, a bullet ripping through the dirt where my head had just been. I landed on my knees, straddling the waist of the corpse and holding the torso up so I could better hide. I popped the gun out, emptying a few rounds into the scattered people.

It frustrated me to no end that I could end this with a thought, that I could take all of them out in seconds by melting their brains out of their evil, fucking skulls, and that I wouldn't do it for fear of exposing myself. It said something about me, probably something negative, that I wasn't worried about the moral implications of turning them into smoldering husks. I was out for my own skin, worried that I would be lynched for my power, rather than caring about how wrong it might be to burn someone alive. Steve wouldn't approve. He'd be happy that I wasn't brutally murdering people, but the reasoning would make him itchy. But hey, I didn't have to use my power to full capacity, right? It just had to be enough to get us free without outing myself. Yeah. Let's go with that.

I stood, dragging the dead man up with me, the ribbons of my power coiling about the limp body. My mind pushed, flinging him through the air to crash into two men, slamming them against a bus roof. They slumped to the ground, the body in their laps, and I put a round in each living forehead.

A man to the right tossed away his gun, apparently empty, and ran toward me, arm swinging. Knowing he was too close to swing the gun around, I stepped in to him, moving to the side to ram a knee into his stomach. He doubled over, leaning into me. An arm wrapped around my back as I brought my gun up to shoot him in the side and he lurched forward, trying to take us to the ground. Bracing myself, I locked an arm around his neck, shoving my free hand into his abs to hurtle him over my shoulder. He took me with him. I flipped backwards, carefully arching my legs so I could land on my feet. My toes hit the ground, the momentum forcing me to take a knee just beside the man's head. The arm around my back continued trying to pull me to the ground until the smack of hard dirt shocking through the agent's spine made him release me. My foot slammed into his cheek, pinning his head to the ground as I fired into more incoming bodies. The last bullet left my gun as my power snaked around the man below me, roughly twisting his body until he lay on his stomach, his neck at a new one-hundred-eighty-degree angle.

Planting my foot in the newly dead agent's face, I pushed myself up. No one came after me. No one shot at me. If it weren't for the grunting and sounds of fists meeting flesh, I'd have thought the fight was over. I turned to look at Steve and Bucky, their backs to each other as a large group of people swarmed each of them, pinning them where they stood with sheer manpower. With that many well-trained, muscled agents, even Steve and Barnes couldn't break free. Hydra had concentrated their efforts on the more difficult marks. It'd have been a smart move if I hadn't been, well, me.

I couldn't shoot anyone, not without possibly hitting Steve and Barnes. Knives might work, but in such close quarters, I didn't want any knives getting away from me only to end up in Steve's chest. Maybe power and knives? Yes. I liked that. As long as my jacket didn't get shredded. Then someone was getting extra stabbed.

I reached under my jacket, pulling a knife from a sheath at the base of my back. My power grabbed a couple of men holding heavy duty cuffs, yanking them away from Steve's caught wrists as he struggled to put boots into bodies. I flung them past me, one hurtling into a bus axle while the other caught his neck on my blade. Streams of white looped around the throats of two men with Barnes, also armed with odd handcuffs, and jerked them away, throwing them headlong against bus wheels.

Steve thrust a fist forward, breaking the hold of a several surprised men, one of whom promptly got an elbow to the jaw. A man in front got knuckles against his cheekbone. Barnes had thrown one man away, sending him ass over tea kettle in the torn-up grass. I ripped another man off Steve. He flipped through the air, heading straight for the gridded metal bars of a bus floor. I watched as he, somehow, gained control of the fall, twisting himself so he landed on his feet, skidding to a stop. Getting a foothold in the ever-softening ground, he flung himself forward.

He swung. I blocked with a forearm, stabbing my brandished knife at his chest. My wrist was suddenly in his grasp, being painfully wrenched back until my muscles had no choice but to release the hilt. I kicked at him, only to have him meet my knee with his shin. My wrist twisted again, and this time I dropped my blocking arm to move with it. That was a bad idea. Like we were dancing a tango rather than trying to kill each other, he spun me until he had my back painfully pressed against his front, his arm forcing mine to my chest.

As he placed his free hand against my cheek, moving as if he were going to pay me back for all of those severed spinal cords, my eyes fell on the glinting silver of Steve's upturned shield just beyond the shuffling feet of struggling Hydra agents. It must've gotten dropped during the scuffle. Hooray for me. My power latched on to it, yanking it through the mass of shins, sending people to the ground in a pile of colorful limbs. The heel of my combat boot slammed into the foot of the agent behind me. His grip loosened with shock and pain, and I smacked the back of my head into his nose, causing him to release me completely. I dropped just in time, the shield sailing over my head to crash into the tanned face behind me with a sickening crunch. As if a crushed skull wouldn't be enough to drop him, I turned on the ball of my foot, sweeping his legs out from under him. He fell back, landing motionless in the grass.

With a wish, I flicked the shield back in my direction, easily slipping it onto my arm. It was lighter than I'd expected, making it easier to swing around. Which was good, because in my peripheral vision, I saw a tall woman, bloodied and bruised, break away from the fallen mass at Steve's feet, expertly maneuvering her body in a skirt suit as she threw herself at me. I flew at her, meeting her head on so the shield could slam into the mass of her body. Hot air brushed my cheek as it rushed from her lungs. Not giving her time to recuperate, I stabbed the heel of my hand into her sternum, making her stumble away so I could backhand her with the shield.

She hadn't even fallen to the ground before I was moving. Someone had their arm around Steve's neck in a chokehold meant to immediately cut off air flow, and it looked like it was starting to affect his fighting. His wrists had been caught again, making it impossible to rip the man's arms from his neck, and people kept blocking his slowing kicks. I didn't like that at all, and I gave the man a broken neck for pissing me off. Steve took a deep breath as I slammed his shield into the side of yet another man, who was too busy holding on to Steve to block. As I spun to ram my elbow into someone's temple, another person dropped to my feet. I ducked as a fist came toward my face and, not finding me, smacked into a different target. I placed a wicked uppercut between some poor bastard's legs, straightened my arm between his thighs and twisted to knock him off balance.

A large arm clad in a grey sweatshirt broke through the shrinking crowd. It was Steve. He grabbed my arm, effortlessly pulling me to my feet. I played off the new momentum, using it to propel myself forward and plant a boot into a set of ribs. My arm stretched out, practically presenting my charge with his beloved weapon. Almost as if we'd rehearsed it, he slid the circle from my arm and cracked it against a man's cheek.

He left me to deal with the few stragglers who were trying to not step on their fallen comrades. One pulled a knife, apparently deciding I needed to be out of the fight permanently, but not smart enough to rob a body of a gun. He didn't have a gun holster on that I could see, meaning he either hadn't brought one or didn't think I was a big enough threat to warrant lifting cloth to get to his hidden stash. He had just seen me obliterate his teammates, right?

Apparently not. This time, I didn't wait for him to get close enough to stab at me. I was angry. He'd tried to kidnap Steve, hurt him. I drank in that anger, letting it set fire to my blood as I lashed my power out, grabbing the knife from his hand to stab it in his neck. He looked so surprised as he fell to the ground. I tore the knife from his throat, thrusting it into the chest of another man before slicing the blade through a third's stomach. As much as I wanted to watch his intestines spill out, I turned before he even started to fall, focusing on getting my charges out of harm's way.

Barnes was holding up about as well as Steve had been. His knees were starting to buckle under the weight of all of the bodies, a low growl rumbling from his lips as he tried to stay upright. I guessed he was being considered the biggest threat, as more people were on him than had been on Steve. Priorities. Steve himself was pulling people off, slamming everything he had into them, relieving some of the pressure on his friend.

I was thoroughly annoyed with all of the fighting, with all of the people constantly trying to rip Steve away from his life…from my life. Katie's eyes flashed in my mind, a somber reminder of how much I didn't want to lose anyone else, especially Steve. Without thinking, I sent my power out again, snaking it around throats as my hands yanked on collars. People went limp as their heads turned, one by one, at unnatural angles, others stumbling back into a round of knockout punches from Steve. Bodies both living and dead were thrown every which way.

I could hear sirens in the distance. It had taken them long enough. I guessed. It felt like we'd been here for years, but it had probably only been a handful of minutes. Funny thing, time. Either way, we needed to go. Best case scenario, we were going to get arrested. Worst case, we were going to have to fight more assholes.

Barnes was finally able to break free, sending his fists into several bodies. I slammed my knee into a woman's spine, watching her drop so I could crack her in the back of the head. Dammit, we didn't have time for this. There were few enough now that I could kill them all, though it probably wasn't the best idea. The easiest option almost always ended up being the bad option. Then again, the hard option had killed my best friend. But hadn't I promised someone that I'd minimize casualties? Yep, I had, but so many people were dead already that it didn't really matter anymore. Death it was. Someone could yell at me later.

I sent the tendrils out again. They wrapped around each neck, pale and tan, black and white, male and female, and they jerked like a hangman's noose. People went limp, falling to the ground, unconscious at the very least. Steve looked at me, and horror dawned just behind those blue eyes. I didn't know what he'd seen in me, or if it had been the sudden brutality of my actions, but something about me had made him look at me like I was becoming a monster. It hurt. I'd seen it before when he'd watched the video, but now, since we'd explored our relationship, it hurt. His eyes softened as the pain flashed over my face before being locked behind a stone wall. There was no time for hurt feelings. Dammit, I had hurt feelings. Caring was exhausting.

"Yell at me later," I said, turning to find my weapons. "We have to leave. Now."

I walked away, not waiting for the super men to follow. My stride ate up the land, taking me closer to a corner made by the buses, my power lashing out to bring each of my dropped guns or… knife to my waiting hands. I holstered them as they came, the ribbons releasing only to instantly be sent back out in front of me, weaving themselves into a giant fist. It jabbed at the steel seam, bowing it outward with a screech of metal caving in and the soft rumble of sod being ripped up.

With a single skip to get myself started, I ran forward, quickly checking either side of the wrecked buses for more enemies. None. It looked like everyone had been caught in the circle of death and broken bodies. I glanced behind me to make sure my charges were following. They were. Like good little soldiers, they were keeping their eyes peeled for more baddies. I looked around, too, as we got closer to the parking lot, digging in my pocket for the keys.

A few of the store fronts had been shot out, with only Steve's side looking like a deserted town rather than the O.K. Corral. I guessed my bullets had missed a few people. The entire block was abandoned. Even the people in the little café had left once the blockade was in place. It didn't look like we had any civilian casualties. Thank the universe.

I pressed the unlock button before tossing the keys over my shoulder, saying, "Steve. Drive."

He didn't argue, simply caught the keys and jogged for the driver's side door. Barnes went the same way, apparently deciding to take the back seat, leaving me the passenger seat. Well, I wasn't going to get in the back with him. Let him have the leg room. I sure as hell didn't need it.

We slid into the car, and Steve peeled out of the parking lot.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

I directed Steve to the best of my ability while I got the voice recognition and GPS working, telling him to take random turns in case anyone was following us. He'd slowed down as soon as we'd gotten clear of the scene, probably hoping to not attract police attention. Granted, we'd probably be fine, seeing as how he and I worked for the big guns of the government, but I wasn't so sure about Barnes' immediate safety and freedom. He was with us, sure, but if someone looked him up well enough, they'd probably find him on the list of World's Most Wanted.

"Welcome to the party, Sergeant Barnes," I said, turning to look out the back window. I shifted my eyes to look at him. "I'm Agent Dani Ryan. I'll be your bodyguard until we get back to New York."

"Just Bucky, please," he said. He shifted in his seat so he was further away from the door while trying to wipe apprehension and confusion from his eyes. He did, rather quickly, I would say. I supposed he had plenty of practice, being both a soldier and a stone-cold assassin. "What are you doing as a bodyguard? You're-"

"Significantly smaller than either of you?" I interrupted.

"Yes. And pregnant," he replied.

Steve bristled next to me, his shoulders visibly stiffening. Well, I guess we knew how he felt about me being pregnant. It did not make him happy. Whether it was because it happened at all or wouldn't be his, I wasn't sure. I felt bad for lying about something so serious and making him feel uncomfortable, but in all fairness, I hadn't been thinking of his feelings when I'd said it. I was only thinking about keeping myself alive and hidden. See, this was why I sucked at relationships. I tended to not think about my partner's feelings and it got me in trouble. It made me a good agent, though, so it wasn't all bad.

"I'm not pregnant," I said, flicking my gaze to Steve. "It was a lie. A stupid lie, but it kept the guns off of us for a few minutes."

Barnes looked between me and the back of Steve's head, not sure if he should be happy or disappointed.

I think he saw Steve's shoulders relax, because he asked, "You two aren't together then?"

"No, Buck, we're not," Steve replied, managing to sound both relieved, sad, and amused at the same time. I was starting to get a headache from trying to figure him out.

Barnes seemed to look at me as if he couldn't quite believe his friend. Hell, if I'd watched us at the park, I'd have thought we were dating, too. Steve's thumb brushing across the back of my hand, which he wouldn't let go of. The way he seemed to freeze in fear for possibly the first time in his life when I'd lied about carrying his unborn child and relaxed when I'd revealed I wasn't. I didn't blame Barnes. I did wonder why he cared enough to ask, but I supposed he wanted to know as much as he could about his friend's new life. I wouldn't have been surprised if he asked more questions about Steve's personal life, but he didn't. Instead he dropped it like the uncomfortable sack of potatoes it was and shifted gears.

"Are you another one of Hydra's experiments?" he asked me, a hint of resentment seeping into his tone. I assumed it was for Hydra and not me. Still, confusion flitted through me for a second before he added, "You _are_ the one who moved the buses?"

"Oh. No, I'm not a Hydra experiment. I was born like this. I'm what's called a mutant. I have a different gene than most people that gives me special powers and abilities, telekinesis being one of them."

"What are the other ones?" he asked.

"Only pyrokinesis, but it's fucking hardcore. You don't really need anything else when you have those two things," I replied. "Especially when one can literally melt faces."

"Why didn't you use pyrokinesis back there?" he asked.

"Because you and Steve were in the way and destructive fire doesn't care who it burns. Plus, I don't want a mob with torches and pitchforks to come after me. Normal folk don't like the weird folk for very long."

Barnes nodded as if he understood that. I wasn't quite sure he did, as he'd probably almost immediately been thrown into a life of brain-washed crime as soon as he was assumed dead. People either hated or feared him from the get go. He'd never been the hero, saving lives with his uncanny abilities only to have the very people he'd saved turn on him because they were terrified of what they couldn't, and often wouldn't, understand. Then again, that probably sucked just as much. He was a good guy forced to do horrible things who'd never had the chance to be a hero. If he couldn't convince the nation's leaders he was never in control of his own brain, he'd be blacklisted and labeled as an enemy of the state. His redemption, if he ever got it, would be hard won and tenuous.

My reverie was broken when Barnes shifted so he could better see the driver's seat.

"It's good to see you, Steve," he said with a small but genuine smile.

"It's good to see you, too, Buck, now that you're not trying to kill me." Steve said the last with a smile of his own, making it a little joke.

"Someone has to keep you on your toes," Barnes replied. I wasn't sure Steve could see it without turning around to stare at his friend, but there was a good amount of pain in Barnes' eyes as he recalled the times he'd blindly tried to murder his childhood pal. "I'm sorry it happened."

"It wasn't you, Bucky," Steve replied. "I know that."

He took an exit ramp to the highway, and I became a touch more paranoid. Oh, sure, become a bundle of twitchy nerves once you hit the highway, but not when you're speeding around a gridded city where the bad guy could get the drop on you from any given direction at any time. My mind made no sense.

"You remember that time we got caught on the train for twelve stops?" Barnes asked.

"Yeah," Steve said with a nostalgic smile. "We fell asleep after the baseball game. We didn't realize we'd missed our station for ten minutes after some girl had woken us up."

"Yeah," Barnes chuckled. "She was cute."

"You thought all of the girls were cute," Steve replied.

"Because they were," Barnes stated simply.

Steve just shook his head, something I guessed came naturally with dealing with his friend. So, Barnes was a ladies' man, huh? Look out, world.

The car fell silent, the two men seemingly struggling to find the right words to say to each other. It had been a long time since they'd talked. They'd both been through hell and back while they'd been apart. I knew that Steve was worried about how Barnes had changed, and now it seemed like he was apprehensive about asking. But this was Steve we were talking about, so he didn't let fear control him for long.

"Where have you been this past year?" he asked.

"A few places," Barnes replied. "I went back to Russia, Germany, New York. I mostly kept out of sight. I did see your exhibit at the Smithsonian. Not bad for a runt from Brooklyn."

Steve smiled again, his chest moving with an inaudible chuckle. "Thanks. You got your own memorial. They might have to update it now."

"Yeah. Now it'll say 'James Buchanan Barnes: Badass Best Friend," Barnes joked.

I almost opened my mouth to interject a witty tidbit, but it wasn't my conversation. It wasn't my best friend I'd just found after seventy years. Silence seemed like the best option while they caught up. I sat back, watching the cars around us as we zipped by, listening to them talk about the good ol' days and how New York was basically a different planet now.

Most of the cars fell away as we took an exit to leave the city. Most. Four cars followed us, which wasn't odd considering how many people had been travelling the main highway. What was odd was that I could have sworn that I'd seen at least three of them since we'd left the park. I went back in my mind, trying to remember the little red four-door sedan, the black SUV, and the white flatbed truck. At least one of them had been behind us at all times. It hadn't seemed strange at the time, since Philly could be a bit confusing if you didn't know it, and sometimes you'd come across the same cars five times in a grid-like city. I didn't find it odd that they were on the highway, either, as a lot of people used it. Now, though, when we were driving out to the boonies, it was disconcerting.

The guys were chatting about a little shop they'd used to go to when they were younger, one with a teller who'd fought in the Civil War and would regale them with stories, when I jumped in.

"I hate to interrupt, but we have possible incoming," I stated.

Steve glanced in the rearview mirror before twisting around to quickly look out of the back window. Barnes simply looked over his shoulder, not bothering to turn all the way around and possibly tip off the bad guys. Like me sitting backwards in my seat wasn't confirmation enough for the bad guys that they'd been seen.

"I remember them," Steve said, looking back at the road.

"Me, too," Barnes said. "They were at the park."

"Yes, they were," I added. "At least one of them has been behind us at all times. Not the white SUV, but the other three."

The other three that looked like they had barely legal window tint.

The white SUV pulled around the line of cars, picking up speed to attempt to pass. It was the one time I was glad for impatient drivers. And this guy wasn't impatient enough. He was barely crawling by the two tail cars he'd been behind, making me wonder if he'd just wanted to have a lane to himself. Friggin' civilians, taking up the road and making it harder for us to do our motherfucking jobs.

"Take the next exit," I ordered.

"Draw them away from the house?" Steve asked, his small lilt on the end just barely making it a question.

"Yep."

Sure enough, the three cars followed, the white SUV staying behind to go wherever white SUV's go.

"Have a mentioned that I fucking hate Hydra?" I muttered.

"Probably at some point," Steve replied.

"Oh, good. Speed up," I said.

He didn't argue, which I adored, and the car hiccupped and lurched forward. In the back seat, Barnes pulled a gun out of his waistband and clicked off the safety. It definitely wasn't the first gun he'd used in the park. He'd probably picked it off some poor dead bastard. I thought that was fair. You try to kill me, I kill you and take your shit. Yep. Fair.

"You won't need that," I told him.

"I think I'll keep it out, just in case," he replied. Fair enough. You can never be too careful.

The black SUV, which was the first car behind us, sped up, too, trying to stay on our tail. It pulled into the left lane, apparently trying to get next to us, the red sedan taking its place on our bumper. Steve pressed harder on the gas, the trees moving by in nauseating blurs. The window of the SUV started to roll down, and I saw the glint of a gun barrel. Okay, observation time was over.

I focused on the generic bad guy vehicle, my eyes going to the front left wheel. The coil of power in me loosened again, shooting out at my whim to wrap around the tire. I clamped my mind down on it, and got an icepick to my temples for my trouble. Shocked, I pulled back. The pain instantly diminished as I did, going from botched lobotomy to dull ache. I steeled myself against the inevitable hurt and gripped the wheel, willing the tire to stop spinning, holding on until it locked up. The car skidded, trying to make up for the sudden loss of power. It couldn't. It wildly slid across the road until it rocked toward the right and flipped, end over end, into the lane behind us.

The sedan slammed on its brakes, deftly maneuvering around the wreckage to follow us. The white truck followed suit. Down to two. Not bad. Not good either, but it was better than before.

The truck got into the left lane like the SUV had, but it seemed content to just try to pull alongside us, like it was going to try to box us in. Well, it seemed that way until the windows of both cars rolled down to reveal some shiny new fucking grenade launchers. Why hadn't they gone with those in the first place? Wait, why were they going with those now? Did they honestly think the men could survive an explosion? Crazy terrorist bastards. Let's see if they could survive an explosion of their own.

I lashed my power out, licking the ribbons at the hoods of the cars. The notion of fire sprang to my mind, heating up the tendrils until they burst into flame and dove into the engine block. The fires rising from the under the hoods brought the cars to a screeching halt. I watched as panicked men in civilian clothes threw open the doors in an attempt to escape. I forced the flames through the gas tank, and none of the men had even gotten a foot on the ground before the blast tore through them. The first shockwave was followed by a second, then a third, then a fourth as the grenades in the guns went off, further mangling the already destroyed cars into unrecognizable shredded steel husks.

I settled down in my seat, watching with a sense of odd delight and wonder as debris rained down. It felt amazing to finally flex my abilities. I hadn't been able to do stuff like that for years, and I hadn't quite realized how much I'd missed it. Maybe I shouldn't hold it back so much. Or maybe they'd put my head on a pike. Damn you, indecision and self-preservation.

The metal on metal rattling of a gun sounded behind me, followed by a click and the hush of shifting fabric. I glanced over to find Barnes putting his unused weapon back in his pants. No sexual innuendo intended. I hoped.

"That was impressive," he said, settling his blue eyes on me.

I couldn't quite tell if it was fear, lust, awe, respect, or all four that swam in his eyes, but he was definitely looking at me in a new way. It seemed like I'd just gained a few points in his book. I liked that. It was good to have the friend of the guy you li-…nope. I wasn't finishing that thought. It was good to have a military specialist like you.

"Thanks," I replied.

"Does it always hurt?" he questioned.

"What?" I asked, slightly stunned.

"Your powers. You winced when you stopped the first car, like you were in pain."

"Oh," I said. "Sometimes. My power is an…extension of my being, like an arm or a leg. I essentially had to grab the tire with my hand, albeit a supernaturally strong one with fewer, very dull nerves."

He nodded as if he understood, letting it go with my explanation. Steve, who was exclusively focusing on the road so he wouldn't flip the car or something, chimed in with a slightly worried tone.

"Is everyone okay?"

Apparently, he wasn't in the mood for making assumptions about our wellbeing. I think it was because everyone had almost been taken out today. That and he was a good captain.

"Yeah," Barnes replied.

"Peachy keen," I replied. "Not even a headache."

Well, not anymore, and not a physical one, anyway. The emotional one, though, was approaching a migraine. Questions swirled around my mind. I wondered if I'd have to continue being a bodyguard once we got back to New York, wondered what I'd do if I had to uproot my life for this mission, wondered what I'd say to Zeus (if he actually existed), and wondered if I'd actually be okay with fully exploring whatever Steve and I had going on, wondered if he even wanted to explore it anymore. Each facet of each question pummeled my brain, demanding answers I couldn't give. It was going to be a long ride home.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

The car ride back to the house had been full of tension, with all three of us glancing at the other cars as if they would produce a Hydra swarm, like a clown car of terroristic righteousness. I hadn't felt so on edge since I'd learned Hydra had infiltrated S.H.E.I.L.D. Barnes and I had practically glued our eyes to the back window, waiting for a tail car to suddenly show up. I wanted to squeeze out a joke about paranoia, but I was too paranoid to do anything but stare and dole out directions to Steve. The GPS didn't do well with rural roads. To my delight, no one pulled an AK-47 on us as we drove down the road, and all of the cars eventually fell away as we went deeper into rural Pennsylvania.

We'd only started feeling better after Steve and I had gathered all our stuff from my grandparents' place, locked the house up, and set off for upstate New York. Well, we'd all started feeling better anxiety wise. I was still suffering as the wig made my head itch and I had no coffee to offset my growing exhaustion. What made it worse it that I was driving. I'd insisted- well, demanded- that I take the wheel so the guys could catch up without one of them having to worry about traffic. They deserved quality time as friends, something they hadn't had in seventy years. So, Steve and Barnes sat in the back seat, chatting away about the good ol' days as I pinched myself to stay awake and tried to not scratch my head like it was made of ant bites.

Meanwhile, I was on the phone calling Fury, hoping to give him an update. If he would pick up the damn phone. He didn't have an answering machine, and after a minute or so of ringing it would be rerouted to some woman at a desk. He said it was so there wouldn't be an electronic trail of information for bad guys to follow, that paper notes were easily burned into nonexistence. Finally, after thirty seconds of me cursing the one-eyed wonder, the line clicked open.

"Fury," he said.

"Agent Ryan," I said simply, getting the introductions out of the way. "We have Barnes and are on our way back to New York. There are currently no tails behind us, and our estimated time of arrival is seven-forty-five without traffic. Should I take him back to the base?"

"Is he himself? Going to try to hurt anyone?"

"Yes, and it's highly unlikely," I replied, answering his questions in turn.

"Bring him to the base," he ordered. "If anything changes, call me immediately."

The phone clicked off before I could reply. I hated it when people did that.

When I'd thrown the phone into the empty passenger seat, I'd found that the guys had picked up their conversation about the old Civil War soldier, with Barnes saying that the old man had been the reason he'd wanted to be a soldier in the first place. This was apparently news to Steve.

"I didn't know that," Steve said, surprised.

"I never told anyone," Barnes said. "I didn't see the point in it."

"Well, now I want to know more," Steve said, amused.

"He was candid about it," Barnes replied. I could practically hear his shrug. "He didn't make it out to be this glamorous thing. Remember? He said all of the gritty details, the bodies in tents and the people dying all around him."

"And then he'd go into how he'd helped people," Steve interrupted with understanding.

"Right. He'd helped free the slaves, saved families from the area so they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. It was a dirty job, but it was rewarding. So, when I heard about what Germany was doing with the Jews, I couldn't sit by and let it happen."

"You wanted to free them, too," Steve added.

"Exactly. I felt bad about leaving you behind, Steve. I did. I knew you wanted to fight for people worse than I did. Hell, you fought for people on the street more than I did, and you weren't a big guy."

"I don't like bullies," Steve replied.

The smile in Barnes' voice was crystal clear and, frankly, charming as all hell. I could see how women might easily fall for him. You know, if he were a ladies' man like I thought he was.

"I know. I think you said that every day I knew you."

"Every week, maybe," Steve countered.

"Sure. You go ahead and lie to yourself, pal," Barnes joked.

It was hard to not listen in and smile as they recounted their youth, their heartaches and happy memories. They talked a bit about how Barnes was there for Steve day in and day out when his mother died and left him completely alone in his little ramshackle Brooklyn apartment, even though Steve had initially fought him on it. They talked about the apartment itself, how its dilapidated state made it a burden to live in yet a fun place to play in. Steve said he'd even hidden things under the floorboards so he could have his own secrets, no matter how small. He wondered if people had found some of his leftover stuff before they tore the house down.

They talked about girls and Barnes' countless dates, and how he'd even tried multiple times to get Steve in on the dating game. Barnes was definitely all about the ladies, and Steve was too busy being tiny and noble to care about anything but the military. They talked about Barnes' obsession with baseball cards, how he'd pine over them in the shops when he couldn't afford any. They even talked about how Barnes would take Steve to the gym to train so they could both enter the Army.

It was when they started talking about the war, in detail, that I knew I no longer existed in their world. They were back in the forties, in a run-down bar nursing warming beers, dressed in their Army greens. I tried to give them their privacy, to not listen in on their deeply personal conversation, but that was nearly impossible when I was stuck in a car with them. I could try to tune them and the world out completely, but then I might miss any incoming bad guys. So, my attention to their conversation wavered in and out as I tried to not eavesdrop while listening for any terrorist douchemonkeys.

They talked about the dark side of the war, how Steve had tried to not kill too people despite spraying a machine gun and exploding buildings, how Bucky felt guilt about the people he had killed in the line of duty, and how they remembered the faces of every fallen man. They talked about the old crew, the Howling Commandos, and how it was a miracle that they'd all lived through the war, even though Barnes had been presumed dead. They talked about the bars that they'd gather in after a big fight, the hilarious conversations they'd had, and even what Steve had done after Barnes was taken by Zola. Steve even told his old friend how he'd ended up in the twenty-first century, though he distinctly avoided the word sacrifice to describe his selfless actions. Knowing him, he probably thought that would be self-righteous.

Barnes wasn't at all surprised, saying "If anyone would sacrifice themselves, it would be you."

"It was the right thing to do. Millions of people would have died," Steve argued.

"Just because it was the right thing to do doesn't mean that other people would have done it," Barnes replied.

Man, he was no-nonsense, wasn't he? It seemed that the best of friends were always simultaneously straightforward and supportive.

Steve was quiet for a second before saying, with what sounded like a smile, "Fine."

"Good old Steve. Always doing the right thing and never taking credit for it," Barnes quipped.

"It's better than being self-centered," Steve replied.

"You mean like…what's his name? Big guy, looked like he'd eaten a house?"

"John Shumaker?" Steve offered.

"Yeah, him. He never shut up about what he said he did."

"He was a sad kid. He was probably doing it so people liked him."

"Yeah, but that's a terrible way to make friends. He just sounded like he was full of himself," Barnes stated.

"He was fifteen. He didn't know any better. We weren't very smart back then, either," Steve countered.

This launched the conversation into why people did what they did, like lie to get friends, and why other people in the same situation didn't. It was interesting listening to them debate and talk about things that modern psychology and sociology had explored. What surprised me was that they had thoughts similar to those of modern-day psychologists. They were smart men, constantly observing the world around them and running it through their underlying understanding of the human condition. I think that's what made them such excellent tacticians and fighters, among other things. They knew to watch the trunk of the body to find out where the next hit was going to come from, but they also knew the way the mind worked when fighting, knew the way people instantly calculated where to throw their punch. They knew where the sniper would be, because they knew that people would find that spot to be the most advantageous. They knew things, understood things, that other people would have never thought of.

They were talking so much and so vivaciously that I didn't realize how much time had passed until we'd reached Albany. Checking the time, I found that it had been a little over four hours since we'd left the house, and we still had maybe forty-five minutes to go. The traffic had slowed us down more than I would have liked.

The early October sky was already darkening in the east, the clouds in the west kissing the horizon turning into golden orange and pink hues. The line of trees was black, silhouetted by the setting sun. I stared at the road ahead, a stark concrete contrast to the nature springing up around us as we went further north, and I wondered how many people would be at the base to greet us. Probably not many, but I was betting there were enough to subdue Barnes in high tech restraints if he went ballistic. As if they actually could. It had taken damn near fifteen Hydra agents on top of him to get him to stop fighting, and even then, they hadn't been able to restrain him.

The men didn't seem to notice the passage of time, and if they did, they didn't show it. I glanced in the rearview mirror, finding Steve and Barnes relaxing in the back seat, their bodies barely turned towards each other as they chatted. Steve's left arm was sprawled across the back of the seat, nearly touching Barnes' shoulder. It seemed like his face had more light to it, that there was more happiness in his eyes now that he had his friend back. Oh, sure, I'd seen him light up when he looked at me, but it had never been this consistent. Seemingly supernatural connections didn't seem to have any hold over a lifetime of friendship that had been forged in blood and fire. Barnes shared the same glow, one that told of unspeakable happiness. It made me smile to see it, to be able to witness it. They were together again, and that felt good.

The sun slowly dipped lower into the sky, casting shadows upon the interior of the car, throwing us into complete darkness as the streetlights vanished. The guys were talking about the sports store that Barnes' had to be dragged out of as a kid when I turned onto the base, its winding gravel road leading deep into the woods. Only then did the conversation stop. The air in the car changed, going from pure joy to cautious to anxious in the span of a minute.

I didn't say anything as I pulled into the large clearing holding the Avengers' base, its cones of light slicing through the growing night. I glanced into the back seat again, watching as both men cast worried glances at each other. None of us knew how this was going to go. Even though Barnes had been brainwashed, he was still an unstable assassin with numerous kills under his belt. They might not be as welcoming as any of us had hoped.

I pulled up to the entrance, not bothering to take a parking spot since I knew a grunt would eventually move the car, and switched off the ignition. I wanted to say something reassuring as I opened my door, like "It'll be fine" or "The Cubs might win the World Series for the first time in over one hundred years," but nothing would come out of my mouth. I wanted to grab Steve's hand and give it a squeeze to calm him down, but my arm wouldn't move as he came around the front of the car. I didn't know how this was going to go, and I didn't want to give him false hope.

We all walked toward the entrance, the metal double doors more ominous than usual. The fact that men with guns were suddenly streaming out didn't help. I instinctively put Steve and Barnes behind me, making sure the bullets would hit me first if anyone fired. The men in uniform fell in a half-circle formation, making sure they didn't have their colleagues in the line of fire. They were smarter than the Hydra agents, I gave them that. Or maybe they were Hydra agents. Fuck.

"Stand down," I ordered, putting my hands up as if I were talking them off of a ledge. "It's just us. Fury should have told you guys this."

"I did," Fury stated, emerging from the darkness. "We can't take any risks, Agent Ryan. You know that."

God dammit. Of course, of fucking course he was going to pull some hairy shit like this. I didn't blame him, but it was immediately apparent that Barnes was in his right mind since both Steve and I were alive. Maybe he didn't care that Barnes wasn't under Hydra control and was, in fact, a spy himself trying to get Barnes back. No. No, he wouldn't do that. He'd worked too hard against Hydra for him to be a double agent. All Hydra agents had been self-serving, never completely willing to give up their mission for world domination. Fury had never given up his mission on denying world domination.

"Yes, I know that, Director. I just think twenty guys with guns is overkill since Barnes isn't a psychopathic assassin anymore," I said.

"We would be dead if he were," Steve added.

"Captain, I'm counting you as a biased party. I can't take your word on this," Fury said, his tone holding a hint of remorse.

"Then take mine," I countered. "If he were a danger, I'd have put a bullet in his head as soon as I found him."

"I can't do that either, Agent Ryan," Fury said. "I'm truly sorry."

Without a word, he nodded his head, sending the men in SWAT gear toward us. Barnes stepped around me, his hands up to show he was unarmed. My first thought was to reach out for him, to pull him back from the swarm of black uniforms that converged on him, but he had to do this. He had to go peacefully to show he wasn't a threat and so he wouldn't have to hurt innocent people who were just doing their jobs. Steve moved forward, and this time I went with my instinct, slapping my hand against his stomach to keep him from pulling people off his friend.

Tingles shot up my arm as I connected with his body. My own worry about what would happen to Barnes melted away, leaving cool reason. Fury wouldn't hurt him, even if it would mean a political pissing match to exonerate him. If they could reverse what had been done to Barnes' mind, or even just prevent him from going apeshit again, he could live in and fight for society like the rest of us. All he had to do was go peacefully.

Steve's right hand had instantly and instinctively caught my wrist as if he were going to throw it away, his mind not yet registering the sensations that tended to come with our physical contact. His grasp loosened as my warmth slipped into his consciousness, as if he was suddenly looking for reassurance rather than a fight. I loved that he looked to me for comfort, but honestly, I hoped no one would notice that he was holding on to me. I hoped that if they did notice, no one would talk about it. I didn't need my reputation muddied because a charge and colleague had held on to me in a way that could look like he cared about me in a more than friendly way, like I was his saving grace. But, in a way, I was. I was giving him the serenity he needed to combat his overwhelming emotions. That was why I didn't let him go.

"Thank you, Sergeant Barnes," I heard Fury say. "I didn't want this to be harder than it has to."

"Just Bucky, please. How can I prove that I'm not going to hurt anyone?" Barnes asked.

"You just did, but we need to ask you some questions. We don't want you to go on another rampage so we need to know what makes you tick," Fury replied.

I saw my opening and I caught it by the mouth.

"I want to conduct the questioning," I blurted out.

Everyone, including Fury and the men locking Barnes in special cuffs, stopped to look at me. Steve didn't let go of my arm. Instead, he tightened his grip. It felt like he was silently thanking me for looking out for Barnes, for taking it upon myself to protect him against whatever mental torture they might dole out.

"Tannen will be doing the questioning," Fury stated simply, frowning at me.

"Then I request to be in the room and able to ask questions," I said.

"You are a biased party, Agent Ryan. It's obvious that you've become too attached to Sergeant Barnes. I can't trust you to do your job," he said.

I felt anger try to lift through me, try to move past the steel wall of calmness that Steve afforded me. He thought I couldn't do my job when my feelings were tangled in it? Had he forgotten everything I'd done for my job, what I'd given up? I lifted my chin a little at him, exaggerating what little indignation I could muster.

"I think you're forgetting a very crucial mission," I said. "I've proven time and again that my feelings do not get in the way of my job. If anyone is going to bypass their emotions for someone and put a bullet in their brain, it's me. You know that."

I felt Steve look at me, saw Barnes stare at me with a mix of respect and worry, and listened to cloth rustle as men looked to their commander for his answer. Fury's one good eye regarded me, rolling my words around in his mind to see if they held water.

"Be in the interrogation room at o-nine-hundred tomorrow morning," Fury said. His unspoken "don't make me regret this" hung in the air between us as Barnes was led away by a cadre of men. "Follow me."

He turned his back, and I turned to Steve, my hand twisting to grab his wrist. He was calm, like I knew he would be with our bodies touching, but there was something in his eyes, some small thing that said some emotion was peeking through the numbing haze.

"I won't kill him," I whispered.

"If you have to, you will," he quietly replied, sadness tinting his words.

"I won't have to. You're not going to lose him again. In any capacity," I said.

Surprise flashed across his face, quickly followed by relief and gratitude. He gave me a small, appreciative smile, and I had to suppress the urge to give him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. Instead, I simply smiled back, pulled my hand from his grip, and followed Fury into the building.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

A few minutes later, Steve and I were in Fury's office, with me sitting in a chair that was far too comfortable for an office visitor. Steve opted to stand rather than take the seat next to mine, his hands on his belt as he stared down at Fury, who was planted behind a sleek black desk. He looked like a villain, if you asked me, leaning back in his chair until it seemed like it would tip over, his elbows on the armrests so he could lock his fingers together in front of his mouth, and an eyepatch over his bad eye. As usual, his good eye was glowering at the entire room, as if he detested the very walls around us. He focused on me.

"I received word that there was a mass murder in a Philadelphia park, one where a redheaded woman and two large men, fitting your description" he looked at Steve, then back at me "were seen fighting a large group of people. This was before buses from the nearby depot were moved into the park by an unseen force."

"It wasn't a mass murder," I said, leaning back in my chair. "It was mass self-defense."

"I told you to not kill anyone you didn't have to," Fury said.

"And I didn't. There were too many people to simply knock out."

"More than thirty people were killed, many of them dressed as civilians," he said.

"It had to happen. There were so many that both the Captain and Sergeant Barnes were barely able to hold themselves up under the amount of people around them. That is a lot of people," I argued. "I don't even want to think about what would happen if I took the time to knock them out."

"You're saying you killed them just because it was the fastest way out of the situation," Fury said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Yes, but that's not all of it. I wouldn't have been able to get any of us out if I hadn't dropped so many people. It felt like half of Hydra was out there. Barnes and Rogers would have been captured and then we'd be up shit creek without a boat."

He stared at me again, like he had out in the yard, like he was testing my words for accuracy. I'd been under that scrutinizing gaze so much that I didn't even flinch. I just glared back, daring him to tell me I was wrong. We'd done this so many times before that I'd lost count. I guess it came with the territory of being constantly monitored by the higher ups. I was one of the best agents they had, who happened to be a powerful being and a government liability. I think the only reason he put up with me, my dangerous potential, and my attitude was because he knew I was good at my job. He knew that I was a stone-cold killer when I had to be and that most of my kills, save three, had been born from logical reasoning. He knew that even if my thinking was skewed, it erred on the side of the people I worked with, aiming to save them at all costs. That, I think, was why he tended to actually listen to me.

"Kill less people next time."

"I can't guarantee anything."

"Unless you want to clean blood from these floors, you will."

My entire body went still, and I was certain that I almost looked like a statue. Even my breathing had stopped. I had a feeling I knew what was going on, what he was saying, and that I'd even seen this coming in some fashion, but it was still one of the most unpleasant things I'd ever felt.

"Sir?" I asked, my tone shooting past confused to slam head first into accusing.

Steve, who I'd almost forgotten was there, shifted on his feet as if he were going to touch me. He wisely decided not to. I don't think either of us wanted anyone knowing what was going on between us. I mean, I kind of wanted it known so I would be pulled from the case, but I'd promised Steve that I would at least try to stay. And I didn't break my promises. Ugh, sometimes I wished I wasn't so honest.

"Both you and Captain Rogers will be staying here until further notice. There are people who know your face, Agent Ryan, and they will go to your apartment looking for you. I can't risk you or Rogers staying there," he explained.

"Which means I should have killed everyone," I muttered

"You were caught on a surveillance camera."

"Shit."

"You would've had me stay in her apartment?" Steve asked.

He knew the answer, of course. We'd already had a conversation about how Fury would probably force me to continue my bodyguard work and how my privacy would potentially be violated. Or had I kept that last part to myself? I couldn't remember anymore.

Fury looked at Steve for, I think, the second time in the entire conversation. I guessed I was going to be the one getting the brunt of his gaze since I was the one more likely to argue. I didn't blame him. Hell, I hadn't looked at Steve once because I was too busying friggin' arguing.

"Yes. She is your bodyguard, whether you like it or not. Her apartment would have been the last place someone would look, giving us time to move you if something happened," Fury said.

Steve simply nodded, his suspicions quickly confirmed.

Fury looked at me again, then back at Steve as he said "Go home, pack your bags, and be back here tonight. We'll set up your room."

"No," instantly sprang from my lips.

I didn't mean to say it, to directly defy an order, but my brain-to-mouth filter seemed to have been turned off by my exhaustion. It not working was becoming a running theme, and it was getting me into trouble. This was why I usually had coffee in a thermos when I worked missions.

Fury's eye instantly turned to me, his anger at my resistance visible on his hard face. Steve stared at me, shocked that I would so brazenly challenge my boss. I flicked my eyes up to him as his lips parted and he looked back at Fury. I wondered if he would defend me on this. Probably not. Siding with Fury was the logical thing to do, and the safest thing to do since it meant keeping Steve alive.

"Excuse me?" Fury asked.

"I said 'oh," I lied.

Fury gave me a look that said he wouldn't believe me even if I passed a polygraph test, but he let it go since I hadn't complained more. His locked fingers parted so he could push himself up from his cushy chair. His hands disappeared behind his signature black trench coat and he stepped around the side of his desk. Steve moved to my side to get out of his way. I thought it was a bit telling that in this big office, he decided to move next to me. I hoped Fury would simply see it as us rallying together. But hey, if he didn't, I was off the case. Maybe.

"I'm afraid we only have one room," he said, lifting his chin.

"What?!" I exclaimed, shoving myself out of my chair. Even Steve made a sound of discontent. "No! That has to violate some kind of rule!"

"We're at a time when rules have to be broken," Fury stated. "You are required to stay here for your own safety. I cannot help it that there are unfortunate circumstances. There _are_ two beds."

"Like that makes it better," I replied. "This facility is huge. There has to be another room."

"This facility," he said pointedly, "was not built as an apartment building. We had to get rid of offices to get the rooms we have now."

"Then why do you have a spare room?" Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

"In case we find someone else like Maximoff or Vision that needs to stay here," Fury replied.

I had so many questions. What if they found two such people? Would they share a room until another could be built or cleared out? What if they found more than two? Would Barnes be in the same room with Steve and I? Would that make things better or worse? What if he was kept in a cell? Would that be better? Would Steve freak out? Was I going to freak out? How in the hell was I going to keep my distance from Steve if I had to share a room with him for a long period of time? Was this going to drive me insane?

Steve, however, seemed to have only one inquiry. "Will there be a screen or a wall for privacy?"

Oh, that was a good one. I motioned toward Steve, the bitter pursing of my lips and jabbing, pointed finger saying that I fiercely agreed with his question. The last thing I needed was to see him naked. I don't think my heart or willpower could take it. And I didn't want him seeing me naked, either. This spelled disaster of all kinds. Suddenly, I wanted to set the room on fire so I could stay in my apartment.

"We will be purchasing a screen tomorrow to protect your privacy," Fury said.

Taking the words right out of my mouth, Steve asked "What about tonight?"

"There will be a curtain in place. We don't have many options here," Fury said, moving toward the door. Just before he slipped into the hall, he added, "Be back here tonight."

"There is definitely a better option!" I yelled at his retreating back.

Steve had fallen away from me, sitting on the edge of Fury's desk, watching me fume at the gross injustice we were being subjected to.

"You know what?" I asked no one in particular as I paced toward the door. "Forget assassins. _I'm_ going to kill him."

Steve's hand gently caught my left wrist, and my growing anger flooded from me, leaving me lightheaded. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning, glad I wasn't facing him. I didn't want him to see just how much he affected me by simply slipping his fingers across my skin, as if he hadn't seen it numerous times before. I tried to be upset about not being able to be upset. It was impossibly difficult. My inflammatory feelings were trapped under layers of snow, extinguishing them like they were smoldering embers.

"Please, let me have this one," I sighed.

"No," was the response. "It'll be okay, Dani. We'll figure it out."

"What will we figure out?" I asked, turning to him, incapable of putting anything but false incensed conviction into my words. "How we maintain our privacy? How we maintain our distance? How we maintain our rapidly dwindling professionalism?"

"All of it," he replied, pulling on my arm to bring me closer.

He scooted to the side, giving me room to sit down. I took it. It was better than being in between his legs, which was way too much romance for me to handle right now. He moved away from my wrist to grab my hand, his much larger hand almost swallowing mine. I wondered how long he'd hold on, how long he'd try to keep me calm before he decided I'd regained enough composure to not want to cut Fury's brake lines.

It dawned on me, too late for comfort, that I could break free at any time, that he would instantly let me go if I resisted even a little bit. It dawned on me that, despite me wanting my anger, despite my alleged distaste for our connection, I didn't want to pull away. I liked the comfort his touch brought, how it made me let go of everything that had turned me into this jaded, nightmare-fueled person. For a moment, I thought that I should just give in, that I should allow him to sweep me off my feet. But I couldn't. That wasn't me, and a deep connection took more than feet sweeping, more than I was willing to give.

My resolve was strengthened when he added, "But I don't think we can keep our distance."

I looked at him, wide-eyed yet again, and hoping he wasn't saying what I thought he was.

"Are you saying you don't think we can or that you don't want to?" I asked.

He looked at me then, his eyes studying my face, the shock I'd forced upon it slowly falling away as took my hand more firmly. I couldn't tell if he was preparing himself for heartache or if he was trying to maintain my calm.

"Both," he said, "but mostly the first one. It was hard enough when we were in a two-story house with separate rooms."

"But Barnes is probably going to be in there with us," I pointed out. "That alone is going to make it easier."

I hoped.

A small smile broke through his serious demeanor. "Knowing him, he'd be pushing for it."

"Well, tell him not to do that," I argued.

That made him grin. "When it comes to trying to get me a date, Bucky doesn't listen to anything I say."

"I'll tell him, then."

"Doubt he'd listen to you, either." He shifted, turning his body toward me as he lifted my hand to rest on his knee so his leg didn't crush it. "Even if we do get closer, it'll be okay."

I stared at my hand, now enveloped in both of his, before flicking my gaze up to his face. I zipped my eyes past his lips, not wanting to get another urge to kiss them, and looked into drowning blue pools.

"You can't promise that," I said. "I might lose my mind and blow this entire place to hell. You don't know."

"Would dating me really be that bad?" he asked, looking as hurt and confused as his numb mind would allow.

"God, no," I said, leaning forward. "It would be the one of the best things I could ask for. I'm just…weird…about it. You know that. I mean, I want you. I think that's obvious, but I want control over how I feel about you and I feel like if I don't have that, the thin thread that is my sanity will snap. But, I feel like if I do have control, my sanity is going to snap. That's why I keep flip-flopping like a fish on a dock."

I realized that I was staring at the grey wall just past his shoulder. It was decidedly better than looking at Steve's face and finding an emotion that I didn't want to see. It was better than seeing hope, disappointment, lust, or universe forbid, love shining through the haze. Whatever was on his face, whatever he felt in that moment, was something I wanted to remain blissfully ignorant about. But he wasn't talking. He was so silent that I wasn't even sure he was breathing. My need to make sure he was okay overrode the minimal amounts of fear stirring in my gut, and I glanced up, finding him looking at me with his usual odd mixture of emotions. It seemed he was incapable of picking just one. What was worse, all of them were things I didn't want to see. I was beginning to think that I just wanted him to be an emotionless robot when he was dealing with me. And then, suddenly, humor overtook him.

"The best thing you could ask for?" he asked.

I blinked at him. "That's what you focus on? Really?" It was better than anything else he could have said, but that had sort of come out of left field.

"Only to get you to smile," he replied, producing a small smirk of his own.

And I did. I couldn't stop the small breath of a chuckle that slipped past my upturned lips, my eyes flicking to my hand in his before settling back on his face.

"That was so sweet I think I just got a cavity."

"Good thing I'm not a dentist," he quipped.

"Stop," I chuckled, tapping his forearm with my free hand. "You're gonna make me like you more."

"That's the point. One of them."

I frowned at him, though it held none of the negative emotions I wish it had. "You suck just a little bit," I said, holding up my hand to almost pinch my index and thumb together.

"I know," he said, standing. He pulled me up with him. "I think you like it."

"Don't get cute. And don't say it's too late, either," I said.

"You said it for me," he joked.

"Dammit," I muttered. "My own mouth worked against me. Who'd a' thunk?"

For a mere moment, something in his eyes said that he was thinking an interesting thought, an amorous thought. That never ended well for me when we were touching each other, so I slipped my hand from his and walked backwards toward the door, forcing a good-natured smirk onto my face.

"Come on, hot stuff. I wanna be back before midnight."

He grinned as I stepped into the hall, then followed in my footsteps so we could go pack our bags and begin our, or my, torture.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

We went to Steve's apartment first. I wanted to wait to head to mine so I wouldn't have to run in to Mrs. Ferdinand again. She was a sweet woman, but god damn if she wasn't nosy. I also really didn't feel like putting on another boyfriend/girlfriend act with Steve. Things were bad enough without me being all lovey-dovey toward him, and this time around, I felt it would hit too close to home for comfort.

Steve's place had been a hell of a lot nicer than mine. Then again, he was famous and probably had three times as much money as I did. It was a roomy one bedroom with an open floor plan and a huge couch. I kind of wished we could stay there. It was certainly big enough for the both of us, so we wouldn't be tripping over each other like we would at my apartment or the base, and the couch could have easily held two of me. Plus, he had a ceiling-high bookshelf covered in titles that I would have had a blast reading. On the other hand, maybe it was a good idea we didn't stay there. You can't exactly protect someone when you have your nose in a book.

He went to his bedroom to pack two large duffel bags while I waited in the living room, unwilling to follow him into his very private space, and looked around at his assorted knick-knacks. Most of them were World War II themed, with a few random old motorcycle and Army photos spotting the walls. A few more papers, books, and framed photos were shoved into a corner of the room, a box next to it filled with more books that had yet to be put away. I had the feeling that he hadn't had the time to unpack from his recent move, since his last place had apparently been blown to shit during the hit on Fury. Decorative ceramic bowls with nothing in them sat on the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. I was thinking of what nerdy stuff I could put in those empty bowls (Firefly memorabilia) when he came out of his room, ready to go.

Next stop, my place. Mrs. Ferdinand, probably distracted by her television, had the good grace to stay in her apartment while Steve and I snuck upstairs. He stayed out in my living room, probably looking around again, while I removed the auburn wig and stuffed two of my own duffel bags full of clothes and books. I hoped I would be able to come back if I needed anything else. There was only so much you could cram into two medium-sized sacks. Once I was finished, I locked up and we were off.

When we got back to the base, a young blonde woman, dressed in a pair of skintight black pants and loose blouse, greeted us at the door. Her low heels clacked against the tile floor as she led us to our new lodgings, small talk spewing from her mouth all the while. When we finally came upon a nondescript blue-grey door, she swung it open and motioned us in. What I saw didn't make me happy. Not that I was going to be all that giddy anyway.

A thin, grey curtain, bare and pinned to the ceiling, sliced the room in half. It didn't look like a blackout curtain either, meaning that with the right lighting, you could probably see the silhouettes of people on the other side. Getting dressed was going to be a hoot. Matching white nightstands and simple silver lamps were to the respective rights of each bed. Both beds were queens, big enough for Steve and Barnes to share one while I sprawled out on the other. They were covered in comfortable-looking dark grey bedspreads, with white pillows propped up against the wall. The walls themselves were light grey and unadorned, making them lack any personality. A single window with white, horizontal slatted blinds filtered in the light from the outside lamps. It seemed that grey and drab was the theme. A man on a metal ladder was hanging a second curtain, curving it away from the wall so it filled the void left by the first drape and completely hid the far side of the room. That, I thought, was a great thing since I could see almost everything from the open doorway.

"I am taking that side of the room," I said, pointing to the slowly disappearing swath of light grey walls.

"I was just going to suggest that," Steve replied.

The woman quietly took her leave, stepping away as Steve and I thanked her for her help. The poor girl was probably working overtime to prepare for everything that holding Barnes would entail. I was guessing bulletproof glass and immovable metal bars. I hope she had tennis shoes for that.

I slipped past the closing gap of curtains, uttering my thanks to the man balancing on the ladder as he put in the second to last pin.

"No problem," he said, jovially. "Fury said you needed it."

I did, otherwise someone was going to die. Probably Fury. This was his fault, after all. I didn't say as much as I set my bags by the bed, listening to the ladder creak and clank as he carefully stepped down and folded it up.

"You're all set," he said cheerfully.

I kind of wanted to slap him. He was too bubbly for my tired mind to deal with. But, he was just a working guy doing his job, so instead of being grumpy, I gave him an appreciative smile.

"Thanks. You're really saving my bacon, here," I said.

"All in a day's work," he said, tipping his head forward to touch his fingers to the invisible brim of a cowboy hat. Someone was from the South. "Have a good night, ma'am."

"You, too," I said as he turned.

He slipped through the break in the curtains, and I instantly heard, "Woah. Captain America. Nice to meet you, sir!"

Just like that, my bad mood was broken. A genuine grin spread across my face as Steve paused for a split second too long, obviously caught off guard. It was kind of adorable that he had an issue with his fame, even after all these years. He was a down-to-earth guy at heart, trying to be as unassuming as possible while being constantly showered with praise and admiration. It must've been difficult for him.

"It's nice to meet you, too. What's your name?" Steve asked politely as I unzipped one of the duffel bags.

"Davis Hunt," the man said.

"Thanks for putting up the curtain, Davis. I appreciate it," Steve replied.

"No problem, Captain, no problem at all. Well, uh…I gotta get goin' back to work, but it was great to meet you. My kid isn't going to believe me on this one."

"Come by my office tomorrow morning," Steve offered. "I'll sign something so you have proof."

There Steve went with the sweet and considerate thing. When it came to fans, I think he was incapable of being anything else.

"Woah. S-seriously?" Davis stuttered. "Man, you're awesome. Thank you so much. You're really doing me a favor here."

"It's not a problem. It was nice meeting you, Davis," Steve said.

The man muttered gleefully before the door clicked open and slowly closed with the shush of heavy plastic skirting over carpeted floor. Steve was silent for a moment before I heard the zip of his duffel bag.

"I'll never get used to that," he said, a smile clear in his voice.

"Guys so happy that it's obvious they're on drugs?" I asked, nudging the weapons bag toward the head of the bed with my foot.

"Fans," Steve chuckled. "It never feels right."

"It comes with the territory of being kick ass _and_ on TV. I'm surprised you're not being bombarded by fan girls every time you take a breath," I said.

"Let's hope that never happens," he said.

Poor guy sounded like he'd just smelled something unpleasant. Yep, he definitely wasn't into the fame game like some people were. I wondered how he would handle it if he _had_ had women constantly fawning over him. It wasn't like he didn't make knees weak wherever he went, but he'd never had a mob of estrogen at his heels. I wondered if he would tone down his kindness long enough to get away.

"Seriously," I replied. I shuffled through a duffel, trying to find my toiletries bag, which had somehow made its way to the bottom while I'd searched for my nightclothes. Those, a pair of short workout shorts and a dark blue t-shirt, were sitting on the bottom corner of the bed. I finally saw the corner of the bag as I said, "You wouldn't be able to save the world if you were beating off women."

"I don't think I'd be able to walk, let alone fight," he joked.

"Well, you're not wrong," I said.

Toiletry bag in hand, I stepped toward the curtain, my hand moving to pull it open when I realized he might be in his boxers. Or less. I hadn't heard a second zipper, one telling me that he'd started taking off his jeans, but I had been both talking and distracted, and it was the time of night to start turning in. For all I knew, he could be naked and searching for a pair of pants to sleep in. Dammit, if this was going to be a special level of hell, one reserved for people who talked at the theater, I was going to eat my shorts.

Hand hovering just in front of the grey sheet, I asked, "Are you decent?"

"Yeah."

Good. I pulled the curtain aside, slipped through, and was instantly greeted by Steve's bare back. Let the torture begin. I actually went to take a step back, to retreat back into my hidey hole until I was certain he'd put a shirt on, but I was made of stronger stuff than that. And I wasn't a prude schoolgirl, either. Come to think of it, maybe that was the problem. Pushing that thought to the back on my mind, I told myself that it wasn't the first time I'd seen him shirtless and it probably wouldn't be the last. Much to the chagrin of my sanity and the pleasure of my libido. And so, I didn't move back behind the curtain, but I also didn't seem to be able to move towards the door. I was frozen in place, my mind simultaneously telling me to run and to stay and drink in the sight of him.

I tried to not stare, to not studying the way his muscles moved, to not want to touch him, but I couldn't help it. I think even a straight guy would have paused for at least half a second. I didn't pause for half a second. Oh, no. I stood there for at least two, my body at war with itself as I watched him dip his hand into his bag, probably looking for another shirt. Then, I noticed the scar, one I somehow hadn't seen in the hotel. It was round and shiny and pale, its light pink hue allowing it to almost melt into invisibility. It was a bullet wound in the middle of his back, just to the left of his spine. He'd gotten lucky. An inch to the right and it would have paralyzed him. If he could actually be paralyzed.

He turned, I guessed because he hadn't heard me leave, and I once again got an eyeful of his considerable upper body. I could see that the bullet wound was a through and through, a slightly larger round scar just and inch and a half under his diaphragm. There was a knife scar on his right shoulder, right between where the pectoral met the swell of his deltoid. Two more scars that looked like he'd been grazed by bullets decorated his left side, one just under his pec while the other rode the bottom of his rib cage.

"You okay?" he asked, concern coloring his tone.

"I didn't know Captain America could get scars," I blurted.

Motherfucker! That was it. I was cutting out my tongue. We were going full Spanish Inquisition. Lock me in an iron maiden now, because it had to be better than my own self-inflicted torture.

Steve looked down, the boyish smile on his face saying he was both happy and slightly embarrassed. He flicked his gaze back up to mine, his blue eyes holding just a hint of flirtation. I doubted he'd done it on purpose, letting me come to his side of the room while he was half dressed, but he wasn't making a move to change the situation.

"I mean, I'm fine," I said, miserably failing to save face. "I just thought I forgot something." Like my mind. "I feel like Neville Longbottom after he got the Remembrall."

That confused him, a frown pushing most of the flirtatiousness from his eyes. Most of it. "Who got the what?"

"Harry Potter reference. You'll get it eventually," I explained.

"We'll have to watch that movie someday," he said, stooping down again to sift through his duffel.

"Eight movies, actually," I corrected.

My eyes very carefully stared at the floor next to his socked feet while I mentally repeated the very helpful mantra, "don't stare at his ass." Thankfully, he straightened up again, white t-shirt in hand, and looked at me.

"Really? Eight movies?" he asked.

"And seven books," I replied. "I wouldn't be opposed to having a lazy Saturday movie marathon, though. You have to know the awesomeness that is the wizarding world."

The awesomeness that was clothing would not be amiss, either, but the shirt remained balled in his hands. Oh, yeah. He was milking it.

"I would like that," he said, eyes glued on me. "To answer your question-" so much for changing the subject – "yes, I do get scars. I may heal faster than others, but that doesn't make me exempt from a few parting gifts."

Well, as long as we were here, "How'd you get them?"

"Four of them are from Bucky," he said.

"So, all of them," I said, frowning.

"It's on my thigh."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. Knife or bullet?"

"Bullet," he replied.

"Let me guess. It happened about a year ago?" I asked.

"Yeah. When Hydra hijacked those hovercrafts. Bucky was trying to stop me from changing out the computer chips," he explained.

"No offense, but he beat the hell out of you," I said, folding my arms across my stomach and nodding toward his body.

I'd decided that pretending I wasn't turned on was the best course of action. Nonchalance was the key. Don't let 'em see you flinch, and what have you. Except, for the first time in my life, I was finding it almost impossible to not flinch at a hot, shirtless man. I was finding it hard to not walk right over to him and explore his scars with my fingertips, to feel how they differed from the soft skin around them. I gripped my bag a little bit tighter, fighting the overwhelming impulse as I locked eyes with him.

"You have no idea," he said.

"What about the fifth one?" I asked.

"My first run in with a Hydra agent."

"Oh. What a nice guy, shooting at you and all," I replied sarcastically.

Something flitted behind his eyes, making me think he wanted to add something to our lighthearted conversation, something sad that somehow managed to have a silver lining. Instead, he raked his eyes over my body and I watched the humor gradually seep back into his features. I'd have felt glad to be of service if I knew what he was so happy about. Five bucks said, though, that my body language was sending him all kinds of sexy signals. Someone please save me from me.

He tore his eyes from me, finally flipping the shirt over in his hands, trying to find the hole for his body. To my great relief, he found it and slipped it over his head. To my anguish, it did nothing to disguise the rise and fall of his body. I wanted to whimper. I couldn't catch a break. I could almost feel the distance between us closing, and it was only the first night.

"Well," I said into the new silence, walking backwards toward the door, "I don't think I forgot anything, so I'm going to go sneak around the hallway like a creep."

Steve set his hands on his hips, watching me retreat, a small smirk on his face like he'd won something. He probably thought he was winning the battle of getting me to deal with my shit. I could see why. My body language, my tone of voice, and my somehow uncontrollable nervousness was screaming that I was having trouble containing myself. And if I were being honest, with all of the evidence stacked in his favor, I kind of thought he was winning, too.

"I guess the Remembrall didn't work," he said.

"It could be a bum ball. It didn't turn re-" My sentence stopped mid-word as my back slapped into the closed door. Fluttering my eyes closed, I pursed my lips. "That is a door."

"They sneak up on you," he joked.

I opened my eyes to look at him, hoping my cheeks hadn't turned pink from embarrassment. I reached behind me, groping for the handle.

"Yeah, they do. I can't tell you how many times a door or wall has attacked me. Tricky little bastards," I replied.

I touched cool metal and pushed down, taking a few steps forward so I could open the door. For some reason, I didn't want to turn around. I didn't know if it was because he cut a perfect figure, or if my brain was too tired to fight the urge to look at him, or if I was just scared he was going to break character and stride across the room so he could start kissing me. I just didn't want to take my eyes off him, and judging from the humor and fresh flare of flirtatiousness behind his eyes, I think he knew it.

"I'll be right back," I said as I slipped into the hall.

Flustered beyond words, I didn't even bother to close the door. It was looking like I was going to lose this fight. I had to talk to Zeus, sooner rather than later. Thinking Steve was attractive was normal. Wanting to touch him was probably normal…ish. Wanting to touch him so that cool fire could zing through me, so I could pin him to the bed, so I could make him mine, was definitely not normal.

I went into the women's locker room, sidling up to one of the sinks so I could brush my teeth. I felt horrible. Why did I have to be this way? Why did I have to fight so vigorously against something I knew I wanted? Why did I have to have complete control over my feelings towards him, anyway? I wasn't in control over the feelings I had for anyone else, so why was he the odd man out? Even my past boyfriends hadn't had to go through the shit I was putting him through. Did I think he was too innocent? Did I think that I wasn't good enough? Was it how quickly it was happening? I just didn't know, and I didn't like not knowing.

A small voice in the back of my head, one that I supposed had always been there, said that I did like knowing how intelligent he was, that he could insert both wisdom and knowledge into every conversation he had, that he could crack jokes with the best of them despite his usually serious demeanor, and that his loyalty had no end. I liked knowing what he looked like when he thought no one was watching, that his smile was still youthful, and that he'd look down when he felt a little too out of his depth. I liked knowing the way he fought, the way he moved with grace and precision, the way he stood with his hands on his belt. I liked knowing how he looked with his shirt off, the rise and fall of his muscles, the pale scars of injuries long past, and how he felt under my hands, how his lips felt against mine.

I bent over to rinse my mouth and the toothbrush, groaning as I stood. Why me? Why him? Why this connection? Why couldn't I have a normal love life? And what the hell was wrong with me that I kept trying to push this perfect man away? What was I so afraid of? What if I… well, shit, what if I did let go of the reigns and just gave in? What if I put my control not in how I felt about him, but in allowing myself to feel? Would I feel better about everything? Would I be able to end the torment? Would I be able to stop hurting him? Would it really be okay like he'd said it would be? I guessed there was only one way to find out. All I had to do now was find a way to relinquish control. Good luck, me.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

When I got back to the room, the door was closed. That was to be expected. Once again fearing that he might be stripping down so he could get ready for bed, I knocked on the thick plastic, announced myself, and listened for a response. I didn't hear anything. I realized he'd probably stepped out to take care of his own business. Steeling myself just in case, I opened the door and walked into the room. I was right. He wasn't there. Good. That gave me plenty of time to slip into my own sleepwear.

I'd just pulled on my shorts when there was a knock at the door. A muffled "Dani?" lifted through the room.

"Come in," I shouted.

I hopped on to the bed as the door opened, the springs squeaking their protest. My body finally started to relax as it settled into the soft mattress. I lifted the comforter, the stiff, soft material audibly crumpling as I slid my legs under the covers, trying to make myself completely comfortable. That wasn't going to last long, though. I'd forgotten to grab my phone.

"Did you run into any walls?" Steve's deep, disembodied voice asked.

"You know, one sprung up right in front of me," I replied as I hung over the side of the bed to find my discarded jeans. "I think we have phantom workmen."

"They must be up to something."

"Right?! I'm going to have to check the perimeter tomorrow."

Steve chuckled, just this side of a soft breath of laughter. Oh man, I loved that sound. It was so untouched by worry, by the crazy world around it, by the crazy woman on the other side of the curtain. It was carefree, and it made me smile to hear him let loose.

"You're going to have your work cut out for you tomorrow," he said.

I finally found my pants and shoved my hand into one of the back pockets, promptly grabbing the phone and tossing the jeans onto my open duffel bag. I pulled my body back to the center of the bed, the springs creaking again at the shift of weight. As I watched, the shadow of Steve's body skimmed across the floor under the curtain, slowly appearing as a silhouette across the drapes as he came to a stop right in front of the gap.

Before he could even ask, I said, "Come on over. Help me create a sweep plan."

A pale hand slipped through the folds of fabric, pulling them away so he could duck through the narrow opening. He'd traded in his jeans for a pair of black sweatpants that, somehow, managed to accentuate the tops of his thighs. Did no clothes fit him like a normal human being? I crossed my legs under the covers and set my phone down next to my right knee. He looked at me, then motioned to the bed.

"May I?" he asked.

"Sure," I replied, scooting back as if he needed more room. He didn't. "Park her."

"Am I a car?" he asked, jokingly.

He sat of the left side of the bed and propped his left leg up a few inches from my foot, his right foot touching the floor. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, and grabbed his wrist as if that were how he were going to stay sitting up.

"You're as big as car," I retorted, leaning forward to place my elbows on my thighs. "What's up?"

He looked down again, his freshly combed hair shifting a little. When he looked up again, he had a small, apologetic smirk on his face. "I'm sorry."

Well, that was unexpected. I was thinking he was going to throw out another verbal jab of some kind, but he was going all serious on me. I didn't know if I was up for that. Today had been somber enough. Sure, it had been a joy to find Barnes, but along the way Steve had been stuck in his own anxiety-filled head, I'd fucked up and not spotted shit tons of Hydra agents, and we'd been in what amounted to a riot with guns. And we'd had grenade launchers pointed at us. Now was the time for fun. I guessed. Oh, who fucking knew anymore? Not this mood swinging psycho.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. I snapped my spine straight and narrowed bright green eyes at him. "Did you build the wall?"

"No" he laughed, caught off guard. "I meant I'm sorry for teasing you. I said I wasn't going to push you."

"Yeah, you should be sorry" I said jokingly. "I could've had a heart attack."

"Well, we wouldn't want that. Your mother might hit me," he quipped.

"There's no 'might' about it. She would try to break your jaw" I replied, settling my arms back on my knees. "But seriously, I don't mind. It allowed me to learn something new about you, and that's never a bad thing."

"You might find out something negative, but learning itself is always a positive," he stated, wisely.

He moved, settling himself more firmly on the bed so he wasn't about to fall off. I watched him while he did, and noticed that a strand of blond hair had fallen too far forward, looking out of place among the rest of the slicked back locks. It bothered me. Call it perfectionism, mild OCD that wasn't actually OCD, or what have you, but it bothered me. And so, without a second thought, I reached out and gently pushed it back in place.

Only after I'd started pulling my hand away did it hit me that my body had bypassed my brain. Then it hit me that maybe it hadn't. Exhaustion was patiently tearing down the already crumbling walls I'd put around my mind, ones I'd put there so I wouldn't have to feel love for anyone new, and now everything that I'd held back was seeping through. Every word I'd said that had bypassed my filter, every simple motion I'd made toward him, every thought that I should let go, all of them seemed to be screaming at me from the place I'd locked away, telling me that this what I truly wanted to say and do and feel. My subconscious mind was just waiting for me to get the hints that were smacking me over the head with frying pans. I got it now.

So, instead of shutting down completely, like I was certain I'd done before, I rested my hand in my lap and calmly stated, "Precisely. And, it's not exactly horrible to see a guy shirtless. Unless it's Ron Jeremy. Then it's just gross."

And there was yet another hint, waving a highlighter yellow banner in my face saying "See?! When you can't control your mouth, the truth is what comes out." Steve was frowning at me now, both confused and amused, with a hint of flirtatiousness sprinkled in for my crack about seeing him half nude.

"Who is Ron Jeremy?" he asked, going for the last question I'd expected him to ask.

Wide-eyed and clinging to humor to offset my growing frustration at my flip-flopping ways, I muttered, "I shouldn't have said that. Do _not_ Google him."

"Oh, I'm gonna Google him," he teased.

"Don't you dare," I ordered.

He moved on the bed, planting one foot firmly on the floor like he was going to stand up, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to get my phone."

"Steve!" I exclaimed. I shot my hand out and grabbed a hold of the bottom of his shirt, my knuckles a mere centimeter from his body. I gave him playfully pleading eyes, begging him to not to take so much as another eye twitch toward the curtain. "I am trying to save you from needing your brain bleached."

"That bad, huh?" he asked with a grin, moving back to his original spot.

"Think of a greasy, hairy potato," I replied.

A laugh burst from his mouth. He threw his head back, his hand going to his chest as if he were trying to hold himself up. Gods, his face just lit up when he laughed, his lips somehow still utterly perfect as they pulled against gleaming white teeth, his long lashes grazing his cheeks. And holy shit, when he let completely loose, it was infectious. It suddenly much easier to ignore the bright yellow banner unfurling in my mind's eye.

"I'm serious!" I laughed, tugging on his shirt. "It is so bad."

His hand went to his stomach as he tried to regain control of himself. I studied him through eyes sparkling with laughter, watching his hand smooth over his thigh as if he were pushing wrinkles from the fabric of his pants, observing the way his shoulders rounded forward and pushed back as his body slowly stopped shaking. I quickly found his face as he turned glittering blue pools toward me.

"Okay. I believe you," he said.

"Good. You just saved yourself decades of therapy," I chuckled.

"Are you getting therapy for it?" he asked jovially.

"No, but I am saving people from the same fate. It works just as well," I shrugged.

"Well, thank you," he said. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"Keep me from killing Tannen," I joked.

"I was going to do that anyway."

"That's still a valid repayment," I responded.

"I guess it is," he said, his lips still turned up at the corners. "But I don't think it's good enough for saving me the trouble."

His smile suddenly faltered as I watched, slowly dwindling until his lips were just barely curved at the corners. His eyes slipped down my face, settling on my lips before flicking back up to my eyes. His face still had a hint of laughter, but something had shifted into his gaze. It looked a whole lot like he wanted to kiss me.

I stared at him, trying to tell my hand to release him, but a voice in the back of my head refused. It yelled at me, loudly voicing its frustration at my mental inability to unabashedly care for Steve. It screamed that my actions spoke louder than my words, and that my actions were crying out that I really did want him, despite not knowing why. It shrieked at me to find a way to let go, to just let myself have the one good thing, the one good man, sitting in front of me. I still wanted to talk to Zeus, to figure out what the hell was going on, but the voice in my head had a point. So, I let go.

I moved my hand, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into me. Caught by surprise, he didn't resist. Not that he would have even if I'd warned him. I pressed my lips to his, relishing in the ice that speared my soul when we met. His hand went to my waist as he kissed me back, gently pulling me toward him. I parted his lips, my body just barely lifting away from the bed as if I were moving to settle in his lap. I wanted more, and the way he slowly slid his hand up my side I knew he wanted more, too, but I was afraid that if we continued, I might lose myself completely and pull him down to the bed. I don't think either of us were ready for a full on make out session just yet.

Reluctantly, I broke away, fluttering my eyes open so I could look up at him. He stared down at me, pride and pleasure and happiness painted across his features. My fingers unfurled from his shirt to gently press against his chest.

"I guess you were right about that whole distance thing," I said. "Wasn't expecting to break so quickly, but apparently, I have crap self-control."

Somehow, I'd managed to sound normal, like I hadn't just had my breath sucked from my body and flipped my world on its head. Maybe it was because I was touching him? Or maybe it was because I'd finally given up on trying to control my emotions towards him? Either way.

"I can't say I'm mad about that. But the professionalism is completely gone, isn't it?" he asked, his thumb stroking my side.

"Only when no one is watching," I replied, coyly. I quickly added, "And maybe during movies. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Not that I'm complaining, but why did you change your mind? Or are you a fish on a dock?"

"No more fish on a dock for me. You're amazing, I'm an ass, and it's going to happen no matter what," I said. " _And_ I don't want to jerk you around anymore. You deserve better than that."

I sounded like a cheesy romance movie, but I'd be damned if it wasn't true. He frowned suddenly, though, opening his mouth to speak with a look in his eyes that said he didn't agree with something, and was met with a finger on his lips. I knew what he was going to say. Everyone who cared about you just had to correct you when you degraded yourself, no matter how right you were.

"Yes, I am an ass," I insisted.

Seeming to accept that he wasn't going to change my mind on that, he let out a small sigh and changed course. "Do you still want to talk to Zeus?"

"Yes, but only so I know for sure what's going on. I hate not knowing things. Which is why I'm so gosh darn upset about science not exploring our oceans. Who knows what other murder fish are down there? I mean, we have sharks, jellyfish, swimming knives-"

Grinning, he shook his head and kissed me again, which was probably the best way ever to get me to shut up. Good thing he did it, too. Anxiousness was trickling through the haze, and when I got nervous in social or romantic situations, I covered with copious amounts of humor. Not that I didn't crack jokes all the time anyway, but it always seemed to get worse when I started freaking out a little too much. But with one simple movement, Steve quieted my mind, once again telling me that it was okay.

His hand pulled away from my side as he pushed himself off the bed, apology clear in his face as if he didn't want to walk away, but had to. In a surprising move, I let myself feel the loss of his weight in front of me, of his hand on my hip. The urge to pull him back down to the bed and ask him to stay with me sprung to the forefront of my mind. I dutifully ignored that urge. Slowly. I wanted to go as slowly as whatever we had between us would let me. The connection was only the foundation. We still had a house to build on top of it.

"Get some sleep," he said, changing course yet again. "You have a long morning ahead of you."

"Yippee," I muttered. "I'll hit Tannen if he messes with Barnes too much."

"Thank you," Steve smirked. "I appreciate that. I'll wake you up if you have another nightmare."

"And I appreciate that. Let's hope it doesn't happen, though," I said.

I optimistically lifted two crossed fingers, despite knowing for certain that my wish wouldn't come true. He backed across the floor, his eyes glued to me like mine had been glued to him only half an hour ago. Seemingly reluctantly, he turned away from me, giving me a side view of his body as he pulled back grey fabric.

"Steve?" I said as he lifted open the curtain. "I'm going to try to pull away again. Don't let me."

"I won't," he said sincerely. Then, with a cheeky smile he added, "Don't set the bed on fire."

Settling further under the covers and turning away from him, I quipped, "Don't tell me how to live my life."

He let out a breathy laugh and stepped through the hole, leaving me alone to listen to the sound of his sheets rumpling, leaving me alone to contemplate what I'd done. I'd made a move. Whether it was in the right direction, I had no idea, but I'd done it. I'd handed myself over to my desires, allowed myself to feel something for him, and I had enjoyed it. Fear stirred inside me, telling me I'd made a mistake, that I'd just jeopardized both of our lives and careers.

But…him being with me had no sway over whether or not he would be a world-saving hero, and it certainly wouldn't make him more susceptible to attacks on his life. He was going to be getting those left and right, no matter what he did. And me being with him wouldn't get me fired. Oh, it might ruin my reputation as a professional if it ever got out, and make me a pariah among my peers, but if they couldn't handle it, fuck them. As long as they didn't try to put my head on a pike, I would be fine dealing with their rumors and gossip. As for my life, well, I was in more danger if bad guys ever found out that we were together, but I was also a mutant. I could rip out their stomachs through their throats, so, again, there wasn't really an issue.

Still, fear didn't like recognizing logic. It started banging against the back of my brain, screaming that my world was over now that I'd given in. But my world wasn't over. It was growing. For the first time in a long time, I fought against the terror that I always seemed to get when it came to caring for someone. I gathered all of the energy that I'd used to pull myself away from Steve and focused it on keeping the clammy, cold dread at bay. I was actually going to try this time. No tricks. No lying to myself. No letting fear control me. If I could run toward the sound of gunshots, then I could damn well punch my own bullshit in the throat.

Shoving the fear away, I grabbed my phone and settled in to the bed, setting the alarm to six o'clock. I wanted to be awake before everyone got in for work. Me running down the halls in short-shorts wouldn't help me at all. Something told me camera phones would come out. However, just because I wanted to be up at kill-everyone-o'-clock didn't meant that Steve wanted to do the same, so I put it on vibrate so it wouldn't wake him, and placed it next to my pillow. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.


	43. Chapter 43

(From here on out, there will be some Captain America: Civil War spoilers. In this chapter, there are spoilers on Bucky's containment details, how he was brainwashed, and the like. I will not spoil the movie and I will try to keep these details to a minimum during the rest of the story. Thank you for reading, and thanks to everyone who has left a review, or favorited or followed this story. You guys are absolutely awesome. Okay, enough sap. On to the story!)

Chapter 43

I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. Confused, since I was certain we didn't have a coffee pot in here, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and checked the time. Five fifty-nine. Well, damn. I guess I hadn't needed the alarm after all. As if taking its telepathic cue, my phone started vibrating across the bed, the alarm silently insisting that it was time to get up. The movement on the other side of the room, which I hadn't known I'd been listening to, stopped.

"Are you awake?" Steve asked.

"Yep. Morning," I said, sliding out of the bed. I rubbed my eyes, trying to remove the little crusties that were gluing my lashes together. "Am I having a stroke or do I smell coffee?"

The curtain parted and Steve stepped through, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. He held a shiny black mug out to me. Could he, for five minutes, not be amazing? I'd always said that I would start liking Satan himself if he brought me coffee without me asking, and here was a man that I was definitely falling for handing me a cup. If he kept this up, I'd be telling him I loved him in no time. Probably not, actually, but this was a damn good step in the love direction. It was the little things that pleased me.

"You're not having a stroke," he said.

"God…dammit, you are perfect," I mumbled, taking the cup. "Thank you."

I took the first glorious sip of the morning, letting the hot liquid wake me up inside like it was an Evanescence song. Oh, it was so good. And it was just how I liked it. Apparently, he'd remembered from when he'd made me coffee at the house. Because of course, he had.

"I thought you might need it. You don't seem to do well with mornings," Steve replied, ignoring my comment about his perfection and taking a sip of his own coffee.

"That's because mornings are a terrible concept that needs to be abolished immediately. We should all get up at noon," I replied, sitting on the edge of my bed.

Steve sat down next to me, his knee very carefully not touching mine. At first, fear slapped my brain and told me he was pulling away, that he was scared to touch me now that I'd allowed myself to fall face first into a pit of feelings. Logic told me he was probably giving me space to wake up and giving himself space for the hell of it. We didn't have to be hanging on each other every second of the day, after all.

"Wouldn't that make noon morning?" he asked.

"No. Noon would be noon since you'd be asleep since midnight. It would just be glorious," I said.

"You'd get nothing done," he said.

"Don't crush my dreams. Let me have this one," I said, waving my hand around dismissively.

"Alright," he chuckled. "Noon morning. I'll get right on that."

"Thank you," I said, drawing out the words a little bit.

I'd just taken a sip of coffee when he asked, "How'd you sleep?"

I struggled a bit to swallow, rolling the warm liquid on my tongue. With my mouth occupied, and with me wanting to answer him, I lifted my hand and tilted it from side to side. I really hoped the so-so motion was used in the forties, or that he'd at least seen it before.

Finally managing to swallow, I said, "Nightmares. You?"

"I slept fine," he said quickly, his brow furrowing. "You had another nightmare? I didn't hear you. I would've woken you up."

"It was a quiet one. I didn't want to wake you up, anyway," I said.

"Why not?"

"You needed your sleep. You have a big day today," I said sincerely.

And because I didn't want to wake him up every single night. I was pretty sure even he would contemplate murder after about ten days. Even if he didn't, it wasn't fair to him. Just because I had to deal with my nightmares didn't mean that he had to. He had his own to handle.

Before he could say anything else, I asked, "Are you ready for today?"

I looked at him over the edge of my mug, watching as the pinching of his eyebrows turned into a full-blown frown, his eyes suddenly worried, as if he were about to take a test that determined his whole future. Or as if Barnes was about to take a test that determined _his_ whole future, because that's basically what today was about.

"Yeah," he replied. "As much as I can be."

I drained my cup, set it on the nightstand, and turned back to him. He was still working on his mug. This morning, I had no restraint when it came to coffee. Apparently, I'd needed it. I gently set my hand on his knee, trying to comfort him through both action and whatever he felt when I touched him. His expression shifted, relief spilling onto his face. His hand lifted away from his cup to scoop my hand from his leg. He held on to me, saying his thanks while grounding himself in reality. I had the feeling that he'd started going into a bit of an anxiety spiral. Not that you could have really known that from looking at him. He'd just looked your average amount of anxious. Some things he was good at hiding.

"Tell yourself it will be okay," I said, squeezing his hand, "because it will be. I can say what I want about his shitty personality, but Tannen is good at his job. And if he's not, I'll be there to keep him in check."

"You can't control what the government will think," Steve pointed out.

"True, but I can make sure that he at least has a fair chance," I replied. And if the government big wigs didn't give him one, I'd kick them all in the shins. With cars. I had the presence of mind to not say that out loud, though, thank goodness.

I stood, placing myself just in front of his knees, staring down at his handsome face awash with relief and happiness, with just a tidbit of worry shimmering behind his eyes. I felt the need to do something. I wasn't that great with comforting words, unless I was talking with children, and he was not a child. I was better at just being in someone's presence and giving them a hug if they needed it, but I don't think a hug would help much either, especially at this angle. I could touch his arm, but I was already holding his hand. I could only see one other option. I stepped forward, pulling on his hand a bit as I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.

"Basically," I said as I straightened up, "don't worry too much."

I turned to grab for my coffee cup, trying to take my hand out of his so I could start my day, but he tugged me back toward him, his hand gently grasping the back of my neck to pull me down to his lips. It wasn't much, just a soft, sweet peck, but I thought it got his message of gratitude across quite nicely. I pulled away slowly, biting my bottom lip like a schoolgirl before my lips pulled into a smile.

"Gotta get what you can when you can, right?" I asked as he released my hand.

"Something tells me that's not all I can get," he smirked.

And something told me that maybe I should stop kissing him, or at least give him something else to occupy his time. I didn't think he would ever say something like that. Was he nervous, extremely comfortable, or trying to relieve himself of his virginity? I would have to talk to him about it later, if I remembered, but right now I had to get ready. So, I let him have his flirty remark.

"Oo, cheeky," I joked. I grabbed my mug and turned to him, pushing my black hair behind my ear. "I would take you up on that implied offer, but combination morning and coffee breath isn't good for anybody."

"It's not that bad," he replied.

"Says you. Look, if you want to make out in your office later, I am all kinds of up for that, but right now I need to brush my teeth," I said, taking a step away from him.

He turned up the dial on his smile, looking positively proud of me for breaking away from my deeply ingrained fear of intimacy. I have to admit, handing out that implication of a future romantic connection, even if it was partly to keep his mind away from his worries, was one of the hardest things I'd done in a while. It turned out that it was almost as big of a fight to keep letting myself want him as it had been to stay away from him. Almost.

His hand reached for the mug, slipping it from my fingers to set it back on the nightstand. I looked at him inquisitively, wondering what else he might do. He stayed right where he was, his smile faltering a bit so he could talk.

"I'll take it back to the kitchen," he said by way of explanation. Then he added, "Thank you for looking after Bucky."

"Any time," I replied, grabbing my toiletry bag and a change of work clothes. "I'll see you later. Try to not worry too much."

I didn't wait for him to say anything else. Instead, I turned my back and walked through the curtain.

A few hours later, I was making my way toward our considerable interrogation room, holding one of those plastic cups you get from coffee places. It wasn't a training day, so I wasn't in my impractical cat suit. This time, I was in a pair of dark grey jeans, a long sleeved black shirt, and combat boots. My hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and my gun was on my right hip in an inner pants holster. I was as physically comfortable as I could get for the upcoming questioning of Steve's best friend. Mentally, I wasn't comfortable at all. This was going to suck.

I opened the interrogation room door, stepping into the large space. There was a simple metal table near the wall connected to the door, and a simple metal chair pulled up to it so the interrogator would be just as uncomfortable as the suspect. The room was almost barren otherwise, save the giant glass and metal cage sitting smack dab in the center of room. Barnes was in it, held to a chair by thick cuffs and metal straps at his shoulders and cybernetic arm. He lifted his head when I walked in, his expression softening just a bit.

"Well, there goes my plan to bring you coffee," I said dryly, setting the cup on the empty table.

"It was a nice gesture," he replied, his voice slightly muffled by the crappy speakers built into the cell.

"I thought so," I said. I sat on the edge of the table, staring at his blank face. "How are you doing?"

Tannen chose that moment to come in, a thick file folder under his arm.

"Stop being nice to the prisoner, Ryan," he ordered.

I got a headache from trying to not roll my eyes. I had to remember that this was being recorded for evidence. Professionalism came over annoyance. I didn't even purse my lips. Brownie point for me.

"He's not a prisoner. He's a guest," I pointed out.

"He's in a cage."

"Because people are paranoid. Come on, Tannen. You're smarter than this," I countered.

What sucked was that the last part wasn't exactly wrong. He was no genius, and he was no Steve or Bucky, but he certainly tended to know what he was talking about. He looked at me then, frowning in disbelief. I didn't blame him. I wasn't nice to him. I thought it might give him the wrong idea and make him hit on me more, so this seemed out of character for me. I shrugged at him, a quick sign that I wasn't joking but that I didn't care if he believed me.

Pressing his lips in to a thin line, he loudly sucked in air through his nose and settled himself in the chair behind the desk. He made a show of opening the manila folder, spreading out the copious amount of contents as if Barnes could read it all from the middle of the room. I sat there silently, waiting for Tannen to open up the questioning as it was technically his case.

Finally, he said, "Do you know why you're here?"

Barnes looked at Tannen, his gaze bordering on menacing, as if he could control what came out of the blonde's mouth. He didn't seem to like Tannen much. Hmn, I wonder why.

"Please, answer the question Sergeant Barnes," I said, politely.

"Bucky," he said curtly. He looked at me then, his gaze and tone softening a little. "Call me Bucky."

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. I can't do that. It goes against my personal rules," I said with a small smile.

I saw several questions flash behind his eyes before they went dark again. Tannen, who was more perceptive than he looked, threw me an unhappy glance. In return, I narrowed my eyes at him, daring him to make a comment. He didn't. I slid off the table, finding the metal grinding into my pelvis to be uncomfortable. I rounded the table, settling myself in a shadowed corner to the left. Arms crossed over my stomach, I listened as the conversation was renewed.

"Sergeant Barnes, answer the question," he ordered.

"Yes," Barnes replied. "I do know why I'm here."

"Why are you here?"

"I killed people."

A man of few words. Incriminating words, but at least he didn't say a lot of them.

"How many people did you murder, Sergeant Barnes?" Tannen asked.

"One hundred twenty-one," Barnes replied.

Tannen paused for a split second, thrown off track by the number. He quickly and expertly collected himself, and if you hadn't known what you were looking at, you might have not seen it at all. You were always going to be thrown for a loop in an interrogation, so you had to be able to reel in your shock and awe as quickly as possible. He'd done this so much that it was basically second nature to him. Cool and calm, he slid some papers around on the desk, finally found the one he wanted, and frowned.

"You're only accredited with twenty-eight," he said, looking up.

"Accredited," Barnes replied. "That means they were the only ones you found out about."

"So, you murdered one hundred and twenty-one people in cold blood?" Tannen asked, letting just the right amount of disgust color his tone. "You killed them without a second thought? Spilled their blood without even batting an eye?"

For the second time in thirty minutes, I had to fight to not roll my eyes. He was treating Barnes as if the man was hostile and uncooperative, which he wasn't. Tannen was acting as if this were a criminal investigation, as if he were trying to get pertinent details in order to convict someone, but everyone knew Barnes was guilty, especially now.

From my spot behind the table, I said, "Badgering the witness."

Tannen, who had opened his mouth to throw out another angry inquiry, snapped his jaw shut and turned in his seat to glare at me. Barnes had torn his cold eyes away from Tannen to stare at me, too, surprise just barely registering on his handsome features.

"Thank you, Erin Brockovich. I needed your legal input," Tannen said sarcastically.

"You're welcome, because you did. He's not a suspect nor is he hostile, so your aggressive line of questioning is unnecessary," I said, matter-of-factly. In a whisper, I added, "You're better than that."

I was really just saying that so he would stop berating Barnes, but it was kind of true. I mean, on a personal level, it was one of the biggest lies I'd ever told. On a professional level, not so much a lie. He seemed to take it to heart, though, which was what I wanted, and turned around without another peep of argument.

"You're certain you killed that many people?" Tannen asked.

"Yes," Barnes replied.

"All while being under mind control?"

"Yes."

"How many people did you kill when you weren't mind controlled?" Tannen asked, sifting through his papers again.

"I was in a war," Barnes stated brusquely.

"So, a lot, then," Tannen said. "What was difference between the kills as James Barnes and the kills as the Winter Soldier?"

"As the Winter Soldier, I didn't have control over my mind. I was blank. I had no remorse, no conscience, and I hurt whoever got in my way. I killed who I was told to," Barnes replied.

"And as James Barnes?"

"I had control, I had remorse, I had morals, and I only killed who I had to so I could stay alive and keep others alive."

"So, you have no remorse for the people you killed as the Winter Soldier?" Tannen asked.

Honestly, the only thing that made it a question rather than a statement was the tiny lilt on the end. Even still, it sounded accusatory, and I didn't like that.

"Tannen," I warned.

His head tilted in my direction, barely acknowledging me before he turned his attention back to our captive guest. Barnes flicked his gaze to me, as well, before answering.

"I have remorse for all of the people I killed. I can remember all of them," he said.

"You can remember hundreds of people?" Tannen asked, skepticism dripping from his every word.

"Yes."

"I don't think that's humanly possible, Sergeant," Tannen said dryly.

"Actually, it might be, "I said, stepping forward. "It's called a flash-bulb memory. Particularly emotional or traumatic events can create a vivid, permanent memory. There were huge spikes of it in America after the Challenger explosion and September eleventh. It's probably the reason why some people with PTSD suffer from such vivid flashbacks. The brain can't protect us from everything. He may not remember every single face, but I'd bet good money he can remember at least seventy-five percent. It's conjecture on my part as to what flash-bulb memory can truly do, but it's highly likely that he can remember peoples' faces."

Tannen and Barnes were looking at me again. Tannen looked like he couldn't quite believe the psychology spewing from my mouth, probably caught between thinking I'd made it up on the spot as a kick to his tanned ass and wondering if he should look it up. Barnes, however, was staring at me like he'd never quite seen me before, as if he'd always dismissed me out of hand as another pretty face with a gun. I doubted that he had, but that's what it felt like. I seemed to be good at surprising super soldiers.

"So, you're saying it was traumatic for him?" Tannen asked, incredulously.

"For his subconscious mind, yes."

"He didn't have control over his subconscious mind," he stated. "How can it be traumatized if it was under Hydra control?"

"You can never fully control the entire brain, otherwise someone would have had to make all of Barnes' movements for him. Even if you could, it's thought that sixty percent of the mind and body are controlled or influenced by subconscious thought. The brainwashing stripped away a good amount of his subconscious, seeing as his morals were completely gone, but they couldn't take away everything.

"Brainwashed or not, he would have constantly been filtering things through the back of his mind, with a lot of stuff sticking and influencing him. And we know that the brainwashing effect isn't permanent, as he's regained his memories, so he obviously had a little bit of who he was buried deep beneath the monster he'd been forced to become."

Now Tannen was looking at me like I had two heads. I ignored him and stepped up to the table. It was time for me to commandeer this interrogation. Tannen was good, but he was too wrapped up in trying to be a cop to ask the right questions.

"Sergeant Barnes, how were you kept alive for over seventy years?" I asked.

"They would freeze me after each mission," he said simply.

"Freeze you? With ice?"

"Yes. They would put me in this metal sarcophagus," he replied.

"Mhmm. And how many times were you frozen?"

He seemed to think about that for a second, then said, "One hundred ten times."

"How many times did they brainwash you?"

"One hundred twelve times," he said

I was standing in front of the table now so Barnes could fix his gaze on me. My arms were still crossed over my stomach, as if I were trying to hold myself away from the cage. And I was. I felt like a lawyer wanting to approach the bench without the judge's permission. I felt like a lawyer in general, in a court room questioning a witness, my eyes hard and hungry for the information I wanted, ready to pull it from him like a string on a talking doll. I could see why Tannen liked his job so much. This was about as empowering as having actual powers.

Tannen took my sudden silence as his opportunity to jump in. "You committed multiple murders in one mission, then?"

"Yes," was the response.

"Why did they have to brainwash you so much?" I asked.

"I guess they wanted a completely clean slate," he replied.

"Does that mean you would start to remember things?"

"Yes. Sometimes, at least."

"So, even in the short amount of time that you were released for a mission, there was the possibility that you could regain your memory if you stayed out too long?"

"Yes."

"Which was why they brainwashed you two extra times? During ongoing missions?"

"Yes. To both."

"How did they brainwash you?" I asked.

He paused then, and it didn't look like he was thinking. He was reluctant, and if I didn't know any better, I'd have said he was scared. Scared that we might use the information against him? Scared that we might try to brainwash him in the same manner? I didn't know, and when he spoke, I couldn't question his potential fear any further. What was more, I didn't think I had to.

"They had a red book," he said, his voice becoming a bit deeper, the tiniest sliver of fear sinking into his tone. "They would read random words from it and I was…I wasn't me anymore."

"Random words?" Tannen asked. "Like what?"

I held a silencing hand up to Barnes before he could even open his mouth and said, "Don't say the exact words. Just give us examples."

He gave a little nod, blue eyes flicking between me and Tannen.

"They were words that didn't go together, that wouldn't make sense in a sentence if you tried. Chicken and car and candle," he said.

"So, they weren't commands. Just words with no meaning," I stated.

"Yes," he replied.

"Now, when they were saying these words," I started, walking closer to the cage, "did you think about them or focus on them?"

"No. They went to the back of my mind," he replied.

Oh, good. He was picking up what I was putting down. It was the long route to find the answer to a simple question, but I was really hoping that expounding upon his experience would keep the government from throwing him in a holding cell for the rest of his life. They had to know from him, not from me, that he had been compromised, that he had no control over himself, but that some part of him was acutely aware of his atrocities and unable to stop it.

"You weren't aware of them?" Tannen asked.

"I was, but…it's hard to explain. I heard them, but it was like I didn't hear them. I felt like I was focusing on other things," he said.

"Like you were zoning out?" Tannen asked. Oh, good. He was on board, too.

"Yes," Barnes replied.

"So, your conscious mind was occupied with, say, studying the ceiling, while your subconscious mind was processing everything else?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Is it safe to say that when you were brainwashed and killing people that you were focusing only on your mission and not necessarily what you were doing or who you were doing it to?"

"In a way, yes. I knew what I was doing. I had to decide how to kill people, but it came naturally," he explained.

"Like second nature? Like it was ingrained in you the same way that muscle memory is ingrained in athletes and musicians?"

"Yes."

"Then is it also safe to say that since you weren't really focusing on the people, that those details could have slipped to the back of your mind like the words had?"

"Yes."

Jesus, this was difficult to explain. I had a very basic understanding of psychology, and he had a very basic understanding of how they'd brainwashed him. Still, I hoped that this was enough to make the government question how guilty his conscious mind was.

"If you can remember everyone," Tannen said from the table, "give us an example. Who sticks out in your mind right now?"

Dammit. That was one hard question I couldn't yell at him for. It was valid and he'd said it so blandly that you'd think he was talking about needing his tires rotated. I wanted to look at him, to tell him that it was a bad idea to make Barnes recount his victims, to tell him it was unnecessary. Unfortunately, thanks to the can of worms I'd just torn open, it was necessary. Dammit again!

"It was 1971," Barnes started. "Hydra sent me after a scientist who had information that may have helped someone successfully tamper with genes. I was told to kill everyone. No witnesses. I went to his house-"

Feeling that he was about to describe the house, I said, "Only what they looked like, please."

He nodded, changing track. "The scientist, Jeremy Christiansen, he was forty-five, six four, had light brown hair with grey at the temples, brown eyes, wearing a black pinstripe suit with a green and gold tie. Gold tie tack and cuff links. His wife, Gretchen, she was forty, five seven in brown heels. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles, wearing a brown dress down to her knees, pearl earrings. Their daughter, Hannah, she was eleven."

And in that moment, my heart stopped. I fought to keep myself from drawing away, to not pull my arms tighter to my stomach, to remain neutral and not let abject horror cross my face. I think the only things that helped were the anguish on his face, the way his eyes suddenly seemed to swim and glisten with forming tears, and that I wasn't horrified that he'd done it. I was horrified that it had happened at all, that Hydra probably knew about the little girl and told him to kill witnesses anyway. I was horrified at what they had made him do, and I wanted to kill those people in the park all over again.

"She was about four foot six, blonde hair in a ponytail, freckles like her mother, big, brown eyes. Light blue dress, shiny white shoes, sitting at a table, coloring. She saw me kill them, and they said no witnesses."

He stopped then, like his tongue was caught in a trap. His eyes stared off into the distance and I was almost certain he was seeing her, counting every freckle on her face, every eyelash around her eyes. I hope,d prayed, that the camera could see his face, that it was picking up the pain being laid out in front of me. I turned to Tannen, who looked both horrified and like he wanted to pop open the cage and strangle Barnes where he sat.

Turning back to Barnes, I asked, in a voice as sympathetic as I could make it while still remaining professional, "You can remember every freckle on her face, can't you?"

"Yes," he replied, his voice so soft that I wasn't sure that the audio could capture it.

"You really regret killing her, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes. Killing her parents was bad enough, but her…they said no witnesses."

If we kept this up, it was going to kill him. I heard Tannen take a deep breath behind me, as if he were either going to yell or ask a very long question, both meant to make someone angry, both meant to make someone reveal what they were really thinking. But Tannen had eyes, and he knew what Barnes was really thinking. It was painted all over his face, coloring his voice. And when it came to his work, Tannen was honest about what he saw. Pissed off or not, he would tell the higher ups the truth.

Before Tannen could speak, I said, "I think that's enough questions for one day. Thank you, Sergeant."


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

I walked out of the interrogation room feeling much less confident than I had when I'd gone in. Mind control or not, Barnes had killed a kid and that wasn't going to sit well with anyone. Even Tannen had stalked off without so much as a word toward me, sexual, accusing, or otherwise. I thought that day would come only after he'd died. I could only protect Barnes so much before I either had to buy him a ticket to Switzerland or kill him myself. I was hoping it would only come down to the former. He was a good guy, and I really didn't want to kill Steve's best friend. I'd rather eat my own shoe.

I walked down the hallway, cooled plastic cup of coffee in hand, to the main office space filled with desks and cubicles and grunts in glasses. Agents like me had their own little section of the room, where they could go to their desks to fill out reports and consider lying down in front of a speeding train. I had an immense respect for the people that sat in their cubicles, day in and out, and didn't go insane. I only spent a couples of hours filling out reports and it drove me batty, and I didn't even have to do that every day. Yeah, the real heroes of this operation were the ones that were constantly typing.

After weaving between thin, three-quarter walls and people in business attire, I found my desk and plopped into a rolling swivel chair. At that moment, a man zipped behind me in his own rolling chair, coming to a stop behind my left shoulder.

"Hey, Ryan," he chirped.

"Hey, McIntosh," I replied, quickly tapping in my password.

Sean McIntosh was a tall, gangly man that didn't look like he could win a fight with a balloon much less a bad guy, but he was an excellent hand-to-hand fighter. His reach was longer than most people's, giving him a leg up if he needed to hit someone, and the wiry frame beneath his rumpled suit was loaded down with lean muscle. His dark brown hair was cut short, his curls fighting against the gel he'd slicked through them. His big eyes were a dark blue, like sapphires that were nestled into a handsome face.

"You want this?" I asked, holding the cup over my shoulder.

"What is it and what's it laced with?" McIntosh asked, suspiciously.

"It's coffee laced with cold. It's cold coffee," I replied.

"It's not iced?" he asked, taking the cup from my hand. "Just cold?"

"Yep. You're the only weirdo here that will drink cold coffee," I said.

"That's because you never waste coffee. It's a sin against humanity," he said.

"This is why we're friends," I smirked, throwing a glance over my shoulder. My head immediately whipped back around in a double take, my eyes raking over his body to take in the wrinkled dark blue button-down and black pants. "Did your wife see you before you left the house?"

"Yeah, but she couldn't catch me once I started running," he joked.

"Ah, the perks of being a tree. What's it like being an Ent?" I asked.

"Shut up, nerd. Then un-shut-up and tell me if the rumors are true. Did you really go on a mission with Captain Rogers?" He leaned forward as he said the last, eyes wide and curious.

I turned around to face my computer screen and sighed. I would have chastised him for being overly excited about it since we worked in the same building as Steve, but I'd been just as excited to meet the first Avenger. Only my excitement kind of went beyond the mental realm and the butterflies had been a bit lower than my stomach. I shoved that thought away as I clicked open my report document.

"Yes. For once, a rumor is true," I said.

"Holy shit," he said breathily, a wide grin spreading across his face. "What was it like? Did he have the shield? Did you see him in action? Did you fight next to him? Is he-"

Without looking behind me, I lifted my left hand, trying to slap it against his mouth to get him to stop talking. The angle was awkward, though, so I missed his mouth and ended up stroking my fingers across his face instead. It was still successful in quieting him.

"Shhh," I hushed, my fingers still groping at his face.

He grabbed my wrist and shoved me off him, probably pulling his thin lips into a frown as he glared at the back of my head. I brought my hand back to my keyboard and kept typing out my report.

"It was like every other mission." I answered him. "Also, yes to all three questions."

"I heard we had The Winter Soldier in holding. Was that you guys?" McIntosh asked.

"Yep. I'm writing the report now," I replied.

Technically, I was writing about the interrogation. The report about finding him and the other one about killing some thirty-odd people were going to come later. Ugh, I was going to be spending a lot of time at this desk. McIntosh would probably be fucking with me for half of it.

"So, what happened?" McIntosh asked. "Did he try to kill you?"

"No," I said. " He's not under mind control, so he's safe. He actually fought beside me and…Captain Rogers."

Shit on a popsicle stick. I'd almost said Steve! Anxiety almost instantly wove through my brain, telling me that if I called him by his first name people would find out that we were together, or at least trying to be together. And once they found out, my career would be over. I'd be getting hit on so much by fellow coworkers and be so shunned by others that I'd have to quit and move to the mountains to live out the rest of my days in shamed solitude. Steve would try to stay with me, but his life as Captain America would eventually see him out of my life completely and I'd become an old hermit with a book collection and one tooth.

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the desk in frustration, trying to counter each fastball that anxiety threw at me with a Louisville Slugger. Calling him by his first name wasn't enough for people to figure out we liked each other in a more than friendly way. All it would do was start rumors, if that. That meant that there would be minimal, if any, increases in flirting and gossip, which meant I could keep my job, which meant I wouldn't become a single old woman with only books for friends. And let's face it, I took good care of my teeth. Besides, McIntosh didn't seem to care about, or even notice, my short pause.

"Woah. Wait. You fought with him?" he asked, skeptically. "And he didn't try to kill you?"

"Correct. He's not The Winter Soldier when he's not under Hydra control. He's just Sergeant James Barnes, badass and all-around good guy," I replied, typing in what I could remember of Barnes' actions during the questioning.

"How do you know he's not under Hydra control?" McIntosh asked.

"Because I'm not dead," I replied. "Go away, man. I have to finish this report and get it to the Director before noon."

"All right," he said relentingly, rolling his chair back to his desk on my right side, "but we're talking about this later."

"That's all you're getting out of me," I replied.

"Fine. Then we'll have a dance party later," he said from his cubicle.

I shook my head, a smirk pulling at one side of my mouth. McIntosh was probably my best friend in the entire compound. I had other friends, of course, but he was my brand of weird and he didn't judge too much. Hell, most of the time he was into the same things as I was. He was a nerd and a goofball, a sweet guy who lived to have fun. His laid back, happy-go-lucky nature made me wonder why he was an agent in the first place. He seemed like the kind of guy you'd hire to coordinate a wild party, hence his odd fantasy of getting the entire office area to have a mini-rave. His wife Stacy, was a sweetheart, too. She was a tall, leggy blonde who tried her best to make him look presentable and was always sending healthy homemade snacks to the base with him. Mmm, I could really go for food right now.

I was typing the last few lines into my report, my mind on Stacy's slap-your-mama-good blueberry muffins, when I heard a familiar voice call my name. My head snapped up and I turned in my chair to find Steve taking up an entire skinny aisle with his massive build. He was in his Captain America suit, his shield on his back, and his hands on his tactical belt. McIntosh had seen him, too, obviously, and was smacking the back of his hand against my arm, just out of Steve's line of sight. He was having a fanboy moment.

"Captain Rogers," I said, a hint of surprise in my mostly nonchalant words. I jabbed my fist into McIntosh's leg to get him to stop hitting me. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to see you in my office," he said, calmly.

"Of course," I replied. "Hold on just a moment. I need to finish this report."

I turned back to my computer, quickly tapping out a few more words. I could hear McIntosh in his cubicle, nursing his dead leg and having a mini freak out session. I knew the moment would pass and that he'd have five million questions for me when I got back, including exactly why I'd been called in to Steve's office in the first place. I was pretty sure the entire cubicle maze would be buzzing with discussion by the time I got back. Even the Avengers base wasn't exempt from gossip. Ugh. I was going to have to head them off at the pass.

"Is this about the simulator?" I asked, lying through my teeth as I finished the file and sent it to Fury. I put my computer in sleep mode, pushed away from my desk, and stood. I could hear McIntosh finally regaining control of himself. Probably so he could listen in on the conversation.

"Yes," Steve lied. He was getting better at it. I didn't know whether I should be proud or worried. "Fury said you would have some ideas on the issue."

"Lucky for you, he's right," I said, walking up to him. "Shall we?"

He nodded, turning to the side and motioning me past him like the gentleman he was. I slipped into the aisle in front of him, simultaneously glad to be away from the computer while utterly horrified at what people were already beginning to think. Hello again, anxiety. So good to have you back after ten friggin' minutes. Now go away, please, because my chest hurts from not being able to breathe.

I had no idea what to say to Steve as we stepped into the large hallway and started walking toward his office. I could say some small talk shit, but we'd been through enough that doing so seemed weird. However, I didn't feel like I could say much in the way of personal stuff, either, since I was desperately trying to keep our budding relationship a secret. I just felt awkward. I could always play it off like we were friends, though, because we were. I think. Friends did small talk, right? Right.

"Are you happy to be back?" I asked, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.

"Yeah," he said. "I miss the action, but we're always training so it's not too bad."

"I'm surprised you even _have_ an office. You'd think they'd just give you a secretary so they'd do all your paperwork for you," I said.

He smiled at that. His eyes skipped around the hall, watching the people around us as we walked, as if he was checking that they weren't listening and weren't going to try to kill him. You could take the man out of the war zone, but you couldn't take the paranoia out of the man.

"Maybe I should ask Fury about that," he said jokingly.

"It wouldn't hurt. It comes with downsides, but the less time one spends at a desk, the less they want to shoot up a Walmart," I quipped.

"I don't think that will be a problem," he said.

"Neither do I, but you can never be too careful," I said, taking one hand out my pocket to wiggle a finger at him. "Did that um…Davis. Did Davis drop by your office yet?"

His smile deepened to a grin, and he nodded, finally flicking his eyes to me. "Yeah. He came by around ten. Brought his son's Captain America shield."

"Well, that's going on the wall," I smirked. "It was sweet of you to offer that. You didn't have to."

"No, I didn't, but I wouldn't be where I am without the people I looked up to. I thought I might help the kid out," he said, stopping in front of a blue-grey door.

He pushed it open and motioned me inside. I stepped in, quickly taking in the space that was about the size of our shared bedroom. The far wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the green grounds of the base. Steve's simple black desk, which curved around to hug the glass wall, was to the right and a plush black swivel chair faced the door. A large flat screen computer, surrounded by assorted office items and knick-knacks, was perched in the middle of the desk. Two comfortable looking black chairs were in front of the desk, empty and waiting for someone to sit in them. I sat on the arm of the closest one, watching Steve as he closed the door behind him. And suddenly, I knew the cheerful small talk was for the benefit of the people around us. His shoulders were stiff, his hands going back to his belt to grip the leather. He took a few steps toward his desk, putting his back to the wall rather than to the door that could produce an assassin at any moment.

"What's up?" I asked, concerned, propping myself up on my right hand.

"How'd the interrogation go?" he asked.

Ah. That explained it.

"I thought Fury was going to brief you," I replied, frowning.

"He is. Soon. I wanted to hear it from you first. I trust you and I know you'll tell me the truth, not what you think is the truth," he said.

Well, color me flattered and pressured. I didn't want to have to tell him what his friend had done, what Hydra had made him do. I didn't know how he would react and I didn't know how I would comfort him. But if he was going to hear it from anyone, it should be me.

"It went…well, it went. I think there's a good case in his favor, especially if they get a psychologist in there to pick his brain. Hydra really fucked with him, so if a professional can get in there and prove that he wasn't himself, but that he was able to retain his memories of the events and view them with remorse, then it might be a big step in clearing his name. It also helps that he was cooperative and honest. But…" I paused, pursing my lips and looking at Steve apologetically.

I really didn't want to tell him this. I straightened myself up, forcing myself to stay on the arm of the chair and not touch him. I watched as his eyes hardened, preparing himself for the worst. I would have told him to sit down if I thought he actually would. I had to rip the band-aid off. If I didn't, I didn't think I would ever be able to tell him. That tended to happen with me when I was trying to save someone from pain.

With a sigh, I said, "He killed an eleven-year-old girl."

His lips parted, his eyes widening slightly as he registered the information and shock took hold. Gods, I wanted to take his hand and tell him everything would be okay, but how did you tell someone that immediately after you told them that their best friend was forced to become a child-murderer?

"That alone has started stacking the deck against him," I continued. "The only thing that might save him is just how horrified he sounded and looked. People freak out when they accidentally hit a kid with their car. He was…I'm surprised he's still able to function. I would bet good money that he can barely sleep at night. Facial expression analysis may help in proving that he's telling the truth, and I'm going to recommend that. I'm pretty sure they're going to do a full psych evaluation, too. Still, even with all that, this is pretty damning."

Extremely damning. Even hardened criminals didn't abide child killers, even if it was proven that the killers were literally insane, and I highly doubted that the government wouldn't follow in the footsteps of prisoners that killed such a person. If we couldn't convince the higher-ups that he wasn't himself, Barnes was going to be in trouble, and Steve knew that. Still, he was Steve, and he didn't let anything deter him for long.

"What can we do?" he asked.

"Put you both on a plane and ship you to a country where you can lay low and who won't extradite you," I replied. "Or, we throw everything we have at trying to prove he was under induced temporary psychosis, including sending in copious amounts of psychological experts to confer and ultimately decide his mental state both now and when he was under Hydra control."

"Let's go with the last one," he said.

"Let's. I don't think you'd be happy staying off the grid," I said.

We both fell silent, letting the room fill with tension and unspoken worry. This was not how I wanted to spend my first visit to his office. This wasn't how I ever wanted to spend time with him. I didn't know what to do. What did you say to someone after they got news like this? Did you say anything? Did you hug them? Touch their arm? Leave them alone? I was out of my depth on this one, so I stayed quiet, chewing on my bottom lip as I let him run possibilities through his head.

"Confer?" Steve asked suddenly, startling me.

I looked up at him and saw that he was trying to find a smile. I guess even he wasn't exempt from cracking a joke, even a small one, for levity. I gave him a small smile, letting him know I saw through his façade. I knew because I did the same thing, only I did it on a grander scale that made people give me weird looks.

"It's a good word," I shrugged.

"And temporary psychosis?" he asked.

Bless him. He was trying so hard to feel better.

"I like technical jargon. It makes me look smarter," I said, pushing myself off the chair.

"You are smart," Steve said.

"Yeeeah," I said, not completely sounding like I believed him, "but it's fun to surprise people. The looks I get when I pull out words like 'magnanimous' or 'sesquipedalian' are priceless."

Steve's eyes widened a little, his eyebrows rose a bit, and a small smile curled his lips as if he were simultaneously surprised and impressed.

"There it is," I grinned, stepping in front of him.

I was close enough to touch him now, and I felt like I should. There was still pain behind his eyes, just barely being masked by his fabricated humor. My smile faltered and fell, and I moved my hand to touch him, pausing when I thought better of it. I didn't quite know where our boundaries were, or where we should draw them, so for right now I let my hand hang in the air imploringly. His own smirk faded as he looked at the floor before looking back at me. There it was, his full-blown worry and sorrow swimming around in the darkened depth of his eyes.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Steve," I said, seriously. "It's no use, anyway. I can see right through you."

His shoulders lost some of their tension, as if he felt better about having permission to openly feel his emotions. It seemed to help him, knowing that he didn't have to hide anything from me. He let out a sigh, and I didn't think he knew what to say. But I could see it in him. Thousands of words, ready and waiting to roll across his tongue, building up in his chest as he breathed.

His best friend was going through hell again, and even though he was right there, he couldn't do anything. He couldn't punch, or even talk, his way through this one. He was just as helpless as he had been before he'd joined the Army, but now his words and his intellect couldn't help him. He was a biased party. They weren't going to listen to even a syllable of what he had to say. He was caught between grabbing Barnes and running, and staying so he could give his friend the redemption he deserved. His loyalty to his best friend was making it hard to keep his loyalty to his country and his job.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't fix this. I could offer super glue and duct tape to the government, but I couldn't do the job myself. I wasn't nearly as helpless as he was, though. I was his help. I was his hope. Me, Fury, and even Tannen were his lifeline to saving his friend. But I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to comfort him in the way that he would want to be comforted. Did I hug him? Hit his arm jokingly? Tell him to buck up? I didn't know where our boundaries were, but I wouldn't find them if I didn't poke around, right? Right.

I reached my hand out to him, gently grabbed his forearm, and pulled him toward me. I felt him relax as relief swept through him, and I lifted my other hand to touch his shoulder and pull him down. He took a step forward, folding his body around me as his arms encircled my back, his head dipping to rest on my shoulder. I lifted myself onto my toes so he wouldn't have to bend down so far and I hugged him tight. I felt him squeeze me a little, and I got the feeling that he was trying to wrap himself in the soothing warmth my touch provided. I hugged him tighter, becoming the silent rock that he needed, becoming something to lean on for a little while as he caught his breath. I would stand there with him around me for as long as he needed it, even if it meant standing there for hours.

We only stayed there for a couple of minutes, though, before he pulled away. His hands didn't leave my body. Instead, he settled them on my hips, his fingers just barely touching my sides, as if he were too apprehensive to pull away or touch me completely. My hands had slid down to hold on to his forearms so I could keep myself steady as I dropped to stand flat-footed on the ground. A small, genuine smile had appeared on his face. Most of his worry was gone. Some of it lurked in the back of his mind, just behind the haze, ready to flood over him when he let go. But for now, it was gone, and he was happy...ish.

"Thank you," he said.

"Any time," I replied, moving one hand to play with the leather strap at his shoulder. "I'm here whenever you need me."

"The code word for that is 'simulator,'" he said lightly.

I smiled at him, shaking my head slightly. I guessed he needed all the fun he could get before we had to go back to the real world that was filled with pain and judgement and bad coffee. And so, I indulged him. We all needed a little fun to lighten up the dark moments, though honestly, I wasn't feeling all that dark right now. Gee, I wondered why.

"Simulator, it is," I said. "What's 'office' code for?"

He seemed to think about that for a moment, then said, "I have a few ideas."

I gave him points for sounding only slightly suggestive. It was difficult to do so when you liked someone and the opportunity for innuendo was wide open. I don't think many people could have managed it, but this was Steve we were talking about. If anyone could be subtle, it would be him.

"Oh, good! Me, too. We can discuss," I grinned.

He looked over my shoulder and I saw his smile falter a bit before it returned to normal. I looked over my shoulder, just catching sight of the red numbers of an analog clock when his hand tightened on my waist, drawing my attention back to him.

"We'll have to discuss it later," he said. "I have to go meet Fury."

"Okay," I said. "I'm pretty sure we have the same idea anyway. Lightsaber fights, right?"

He let out a breath of a chuckle and nodded. "Yeah."

His joking demeanor fell away as his fingers tightened on my waist, gently pulling me into him. He dipped his head down to brush his lips against mine before pulling away. Using the strap at his shoulder, I pulled him back down, pressing my lips against his more thoroughly. He kissed me back, but pulled away after a mere second. This time I let him go.

"Operation Save Bucky, commence," I stated as he released me. "Let me know how it goes."

"I will," he replied.

He stepped toward the door while I stayed by his desk, anxiously crossing my arms over my stomach. I could see how his concern had returned in the set of his shoulders and the subtle clenching of his hands. I didn't know who I felt worse for; him or Barnes.

"Steve," I said as he reached for the door handle. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, barely turning his body toward me. "Burn them down if you have to."

I could have sworn that I saw a small smirk as he turned away and walked out of his office to confront his demons.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

The rest of the day wasn't nearly as horrible as the morning had been. I'd been at my desk almost all day, filling out reports and trying to rip my hair out, but McIntosh had kept me company and carefully placed my hands on the desk whenever my fingers got too close to my head. One massive plus was that I didn't have to listen to Barnes recount any more of his kills. I'd even been able to work off some of my stress in the gym. It's amazing what a punching bag can help you with. Still, good things aside, by the time everyone had gone home, I needed a beer.

Too bad we didn't have any. After I'd grabbed a shower and changed into my pajama shorts and a large, off-the-shoulder black sweater, I'd padded in socked feet down to the kitchen. I'd pulled open the steel doors of the refrigerator only to find that there wasn't so much as a beer cap on the clear shelves. I'd, grudgingly, figured as much. Why would they have alcohol in a place filled with employees? Not like that would stop people from drinking on the job anyway. Flasks existed for a reason.

Resigned to my alcohol-deprived night, I grabbed the kettle from the stove and a tea bag from the pantry. If I couldn't have beer to soothe me, then a good cup of tea was the next best thing. I had fun lighting the stove with a flame I held on the tip of my finger, and before long, I had a hot cup of tea in my hand. I wove through the two circular tables surrounded by black chairs to sit on a red couch nestled against the far wall. I sat, making sure that my back was to the corner and that my right side was facing the wall so I could have a clear view of the entire room. I planted my feet on the cushions, pulling them in so my knees were high enough to rest my chin on, and set my wrists on my knees. The hot mug just barely hung from the grip of my fingers. I probably looked like one of those cheesy photos with the lady staring out of the window to watch the snow fall and ponder her life. The window was too far away and there was no snow, but I was definitely pondering.

It had been a long day. The incident report alone had taken hours. It's surprising how much paperwork goes in to killing forty people. The report detailing how we'd found Barnes wasn't a cakewalk either, and by the time I was finished, I was certain that I was going to get blisters from all the typing. When he wasn't holding my hands to the desk, McIntosh was riddling me with questions about my trip to Steve's office, loudly wondering what had gone on in there and why I was the one being asked about fixing simulations. After I'd thrown a couple of pencils at him, he'd stopped badgering me about Steve and started badgering me about movies where office products were used as weapons. We had weird conversations.

Speaking of Steve, I hadn't seen him since he'd gone off to talk to Fury. I'd decided to not look for him after everyone had gone home. I needed a bit of time to myself and I was certain he needed the same. Or maybe he didn't and I was already screwing things up by not trying to find him on the nearly deserted base. But if he wanted company, wouldn't he just come looking for me? If he wanted someone to talk to, surely, he wouldn't wait for them to come to him. He was a "take action" sort of guy.

Me, not so much. If someone wanted to talk to me, they could come find me. I wasn't exactly a people person, so I avoided them as much as possible. But Steve was my kind of people. If I liked him so much and was allowing myself to like him then why wouldn't I go find him? Maybe I'd just built my walls up so much that I didn't want to try to find anyone to talk to, including Steve. Maybe I thought he'd write me off, hurt me, betray me, or do something else that sucked. Logically, I knew that he would never do such things, but anxiety never cared about logic. Maybe I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the happy dream to devolve into a nightmare, and I was trying to hold off the inevitable by not talking to him.

Maybe that was why I was so apprehensive about caring for Steve. That and about one thousand other things, but maybe my fear of good things coming to an end was why I didn't want to explore the good things, the good man, trying to come into my life. That's why I was worried about becoming a hermit with one tooth. I was just waiting for it all to come crumbling down around me. For the first time in long time, I was happy again. I was damn near ecstatic to wake up, not to escape from a nightmare, but to just have even a quick conversation with Steve. Even the pecks of kisses we were sneaking made me giddy, made me feel like we already had something beyond the honeymoon phase. I was terrified of caring for him because I was terrified that we wouldn't have a happy ending.

"You're going to bite a hole in your lip," someone said.

My head snapped up and whipped to the left, finding Steve walking around the tables toward me. I realized that I was, in fact, chewing on my bottom lip. Not in the sexy way, either. I thought I probably looked more like a self-cannibalistic rat than a pin-up model. My teeth released my lip so I could give Steve a nervous smile, like I'd just been caught sneaking a cookie from the jar.

"It _is_ a new piercing fad," I said, watching him get closer to the couch.

I suddenly noticed that he was moving toward my feet. I wasn't sure why. The couch wasn't like the ones at my grandparents'. This one was meant to hold a bunch of people. He could have easily laid all six feet of himself on the couch and not even come close to touching me. Still, I slid my feet in closer to my body so he could sit down. He lowered himself down where my feet hand been, and then, to my surprise, he gently grabbed my legs and draped them across his lap. Oh. That was why he wanted to sit there.

I felt strangely comfortable sitting like that. Perhaps it was because of my dream where we'd been on my couch reading, or perhaps it was just because I really liked him, but this felt nice. It felt right. Which was weird, because I wasn't a cuddly person. I liked keeping my body to myself unless someone needed comfort or wanted sex, but casually holding or touching someone had never been my bag. Oddly, though, for the first time in my life, I liked it. I think the fact that my mind instantly quieted when he touched me helped. That and my ever-growing attraction.

"How'd it go?" I asked, forcing what concern I had left to color my tone.

He splayed one arm across the back of the couch while his other hand rested on my bare leg. He stared down at the pale skin beneath his stroking fingers and said, "They're bringing in psychologists, but they don't seem to care that he was under Hydra control. I think the only person that did was Fury."

He paused, seemingly trying to find the right words. I took a sip of tea as I waited, trying to drown the butterflies that were flitting around in my stomach. This was the wrong time for that nonsense. He needed comfort and a listening ear, not flipping stomachs and bedroom eyes. I managed to find my worry through the milky haze of my mind, using what little of it I could hold to squash down the wings that beat against my insides. I took another sip to and watched him over the rim of my cup.

"I went to see Bucky," he said.

I felt surprise try to crash through my mind only to hit the wall of Steve's touch. Even so, my eyes widened and I shifted a little in my seat, my tea lowering to my lap.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He told me everything," he said, not looking at me. "About Hannah, about his other missions, about what they did to him. We sat there for hours. I don't think we've done that since we were kids. But he's not the same man anymore. He's still Bucky, but…"

Steve let hundreds of unsaid words hang in the air. He was still Bucky, but he was damaged. He wasn't who he used to be because he'd been broken and tortured, both by Hydra and his own memories. He'd permanently changed, perhaps for the worst, but perhaps for the better. Barnes could go a couple of ways, now. He could snap and start killing everyone because his mind broke, he could have a complete meltdown and kill himself, or he could rebuild himself and his identity in order to do good things. I didn't know him, but he didn't seem like the type of person that would snap or break, and I thought it was a good sign that he hadn't done so already. He seemed like the kind of guy who would come back stronger, with more of a purpose than anyone around him. I was certain I'd read somewhere that Steve had saved Barnes from Hydra's clutches after Barnes had been tortured and experimented on, and that he'd barely taken a breath before he was kicking Nazi ass like never before. That was who we were dealing with.

"You know," I said, softly, "the ancient Japanese used to fix broken pots with gold. The pots became even more beautiful for being broken. Maybe he just needs a little bit of gold."

He looked at me then, a small, appreciative smile curling the corners of his mouth. His hand smoothed down to my ankle before moving back up my calf, as if he were simultaneously thanking me while drinking down a warm glass of comfort.

"If anybody can find gold to fix themselves with, it's him," Steve said.

"You're the gold," I said, returning his smile. "He's the craftsman. He's the one who has to fix the pot, but he can't do it without you. No one can fix themselves on their own."

He stared just past my shoulder and I could practically feel him tasting my words. I could tell that he thought I was right, that he thought something good could come of this. Steve had rescued Barnes, pulled him to his feet and out of a burning building, and gave him something to do when they stumbled out into scattering soldiers and Hydra agents. Steve had been the one to give Barnes a new purpose with the Howling Commandos. Steve had started the ball rolling on Barnes regaining his memory. Steve had given the push and Barnes had steered the car.

I took a sip of tea as we sat in silence. I didn't want to ask what else they'd discussed. I'd already inadvertently eavesdropped on their conversation in the car. I didn't want to pry into a much more private conversation. So, I sat there, drinking my tea while Steve's thumb absentmindedly rubbed circles on my leg, his mind in whatever room they were holding Barnes in.

I'd just finished my tea and set the mug on the floor when Steve asked, "How do you know all that?"

I flicked my eyes around as I sat up, trying to think of what he could be talking about. Oh. Duh.

"You mean the pots?" I asked. His face told me that yes, that was what he meant. "I read. A lot. About everything."

"Where did you read about ancient Japanese pots?" he asked, his brow pinching together.

"The internet. There was also this article about how Romans were possibly the pioneers of nanotechnology. Quite interesting," I replied.

"What made you love reading so much?" he asked, suddenly.

I thought this new line of questioning was a bit odd since we'd just been talking about Barnes and the issues surrounding his return. Perhaps Steve just didn't know what else to say on the matter. Maybe he didn't want to say anything and he just wanted a change of topic so he wouldn't be caught in his own mind. Maybe he couldn't hold on to the worry quite as well as he wanted to, so he'd turned to something more lighthearted. Whatever his reasoning, I indulged him. Besides, we needed to get to know each other better.

I rested my elbow on the back of the couch, propped my head up with my hand, and said, "My mom used to read to me when I was little. By the time I was two I had the entire front page of this little Cinderella book memorized. What about you? That bookshelf is not for decoration."

"My mom read to me, too. I was sick a lot, so she comforted me with stories," he said. "She got me my first library card."

"What was she like?" I asked.

"Wonderful," he said. "Her name was Sarah. She worked really hard to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. It got harder after the Depression hit, but I don't think I ever saw her without a smile on her face. She was a good woman and she made sure that I was good, too. She had a good work ethic and a good heart, but she wasn't that great at cooking. We ended up cooking together half of the time, and when Bucky would come over, he'd pitch in. She didn't mind us taking the couch apart so we could sleep on the floor using the cushions as pillows. As long as we put it back together in the morning. She always made sure I was presentable before I went to work. You started working when you were young back then, so I worked in a grocery store, pulling things from the shelves for people. She always fussed that I came home looking like a mess. I didn't think I looked any different." He paused for a moment. "She was a good woman."

"She sounds incredible. No wonder you're amazing. You had her for a mother," I said.

A big smile blossomed over his face. "She taught me to stand up for myself. Told me all these stories about my father and how he never backed down from a fight. If it hadn't been for her, I'd have never tried to get in to the Army."

"She was a gift to the world, wasn't she?" I asked.

I scooted a bit closer to him so that my knees were resting in his lap. Like the true gentleman he was, he kept his hand on my calf, not daring to move up any further. Yeah, she'd raised a good man.

"Yes, she was," he said, wistfully. "She was a nurse in a tuberculosis ward. She did everything she could to help them. She died when I was eighteen. If I think about it, it was a miracle she didn't get tuberculosis sooner. She was around it every day. I guess she was just ready."

"She'd be proud of you," I said.

It was one of the most cliché things you could say to someone, but sometimes clichés are born from truth. She would have been proud of him. He'd fought Nazis and aliens and killer robots, saved countless lives, and remained humble and honorable all the while. She'd instilled her work ethic into him, and it seemed, her heart, too.

He gave a small chuckle and said, "She'd have been the first person waving a flag."

"Probably crying from happiness," I added.

"She would!" he laughed. "She had this old handkerchief that she'd dab her eyes with. It would probably be soaked."

"Probably?" I asked, incredulously.

"Definitely," he amended. Some of the laughter fell away from his face, leaving sincerity to take its place. "She'd have liked you. She wouldn't have known what to do with you, but she'd have liked you."

"No one knows what to do with me," I said, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head slightly. A small smirk quirked up one side of my mouth, quickly turning into a smile as I added, "I'd have liked her, too."

Steve's arm on the couch lifted suddenly and I had the distinct feeling that he was asking me to sit next to him rather than partially on top of him. The butterflies in my stomach suddenly tried to force their way up my throat, and I didn't know if it was because of fear, excitement, or both. I was scared to cuddle into him, to be that vulnerable and sweet so quickly, but we'd already done a bunch of stuff that was way more vulnerable and sweet. Plus, I was supposed to be trying, right? And I was happy when we had those moments, right? Right.

I shifted, sidling up next to him so he could put his arm around me, his hand gently gripping my bare shoulder. I pulled my legs from his lap and curled them under me. Making myself comfortable, I rested my head on his shoulder and settled my hand on the hard muscles of his stomach. This wasn't so bad. It actually felt pretty damn wonderful, even if I could just barely hear the panicked voices in the back of my head trying to break through the haze of peace clouding my mind. I shoved them away, holding on to the tingle that had spread through my body.

His free hand rested on top of mine, his arm pulling me in a little closer. A deep breath, which somehow sounded content, lifted his chest and blew out on a phrase colored with satisfaction.

"What about your parents?"

"Well, first off, they're going to love you," I started, staring down at his hand on mine. "They're pretty awesome. My dad's a homicide detective. He was a beat cop when I was little, so he was working long hours. He'd always have the energy to play with me when he got home, though. He is very protective. Signed me up for martial arts classes when I was three, bought me pepper spray, bought me my first knife. He always wanted me to be prepared so I wouldn't get hurt. He's tough as nails. Stubborn, too. He tore the hell out his hand when he was fixing one of the cars and he superglued the wound closed so he didn't bleed all over the car while we took him to get stitches. The doctor told him not to do that anymore. He didn't listen. I remember that he never brought his work home with him. He said he'd hang it on the tree in the front yard before he came into the house, and he'd take it off of the tree when he left. Once I started insisting that he tell me some of his cases, he stopped leaving it on the tree. I think he liked getting it off of his chest."

"You asked about his cases?" Steve asked, sounding surprised.

"Mhmm. I love true crime. I think it's fascinating and scary and something to be learned from. He was very supportive of my curiosity, but he kept a lot of the gory details to himself."

"How'd your mom feel about that?" he asked.

"She didn't like it, but she only complained when he talked about it around Katie, who was definitely not in to true crime. She almost passed out one time when I had a nosebleed because she couldn't handle the sight of blood."

His arm tightened on me when I talked about Katie. He knew how I felt about her, that I had a lot of pain and regret woven into my memories, but somehow sitting next to him, curled up against him, I felt okay. Was I finally healing? Was that why I was suddenly having such vivid nightmares? I pushed the questions to the back of my head. They were for a different time. Instead of tensing up like I usually did, I stroked my thumb across his abs, letting him know that I was okay.

"My mom is the opposite of my dad, which, I think, gives credence to the saying 'opposites attract.' She works at a computer company, cries at the drop of a hat, has one hell of a temper, hates cleaning, and can cook like nobody's business. He doesn't cry for shit, is one of the most mellow people you'll ever meet, cleans fuckin' everything, and could burn water. They're both hopeless romantics, though. They're good for each other. Anyway, they were both pretty busy with work when I was growing up, so I helped out a lot with Katie. She was six years younger than me, so we got really close, really fast. We did throw things at each other, though. She threw a hairbrush at me when she was ten. Hit me right in the head. She had some good aim."

"But she was artistic," Steve interjected, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Oh, yeah. She would have been amazing at sports if you could get the pencil out of her hand. By the time she was nine she was making these amazing pictures. She started getting into clay and all of that stuff, and when she was sixteen one of her drawings was featured in a local art gallery," I said.

"You said she was an art major, right?" Steve asked.

"Mhmm. Top of her class. She was all set to graduate with honors. I honestly think she would have been valedictorian," I said.

Pain started to build in my chest and my heart seemed to skip a beat as grief pushed against the fog that held it at bay. My connection with Steve was growing stronger every day, but I didn't think anything could be quite as strong as the pain I felt for losing her. Steve seemed to knew it, too. He pressed his lips to my temple and somehow managed to hold me even closer, pulling my arm across his stomach until I was hugging his waist. I felt my sorrow slowly slip away as his hand skimmed up my arm to stroke the skin just above my elbow. I latched on to the feeling of him around me and under me, grounded myself with the solidness of his body and the gentleness of his hands.

"Sorry," I said, breathily. Then, in a much firmer voice, I added, "Way to bring it down, Dani."

"Simulator?" Steve asked.

And just like that, like the tide on the shore, the last of my pain ebbed away and I chuckled.

"Yeah," I said, lifting my head from his shoulder to look at him. "Simulator."

He loosened his grip a little, as it was incredibly difficult to stare at someone from an inch away, and settled bright blue eyes on me.

"She'd be proud of you, too," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "She was always amazed at how much I could argue with people."

"And save people," Steve added with a smile. "You helped a lot of innocent people in that park. I think she'd be waving her own flag. One that she made."

I laughed, and gave him a sideways glance that was meant to be more inquisitive than joyous, and asked, "Did you meet her? I think you met her."

"Maybe," he said, shrugging his shoulders as much as he could. "Stranger things have happened."

"You can say that again, Iceman," I quipped.

He paused for a second, and if I didn't know better, I'd have said his smile had turned a touch mischievous.

"Can I say 'office?'" he asked.

Apparently, I didn't know better. I saw what looked like lust flash in his eyes, but it wasn't quite lust. Amorousness seemed to be a more fitting term. I guess he'd seen something that he liked, something that was so good that it took his mind off his, our, worries. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously, trying to keep the mood light so I didn't start freaking out, or gods forbid, pulling him down to the couch.

"Depends on if we're talking about lightsaber fights or not," I said.

"We're not," he replied.

He leaned in and caught my lips. The butterflies were back again, fluttering wildly as his hand slipped from my arm to grab my waist. I slid the hand at his stomach over his chest to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him in deeper. He responded by wrapping his arm around my back. He kissed me thoroughly, as if he were trying to make up for the lost opportunities from both the morning and our time in his office. Office. I don't think I'd ever hear that word the same way again.

I parted his lips with mine, tasting him as he followed suit, as he took over. It felt like he allowed himself a bit of romantic room with me, breaking away from his chaste, Irish Catholic upbringing to dip his toe in modern day sensuality. Meanwhile, I was holding back on my lascivious ways, skimming my fingers through purity like it was water, trying to hold my body where it was so I didn't straddle his lap or push him on to the crimson cushions. But, I didn't have to hold back completely.

I ran my tongue over his bottom lip, asking for permission to move forward, to bring him in to my world, even if it was for a heartbeat. He responded by moving his hand up my back and pulling me in closer, pressing my body flush against his. I had my yes. I brushed his tongue with mine, knowing that a little went a long way, and he moved against me. Before I could even think to do it again, he slipped his tongue into my mouth, tasting me, allowing passion to guide him. My hand slipped to cup his cheek. I met his every movement and he met mine, both of us playing off of each other, ice and fire, calm and wild, feeling every little motion and countering it like a dance. And he was really good at dancing.

A bit too good. I didn't want to pull away. I wanted to kiss his neck, take his shirt off and run my fingers over his scars as his hands pushed up the loose fabric of my sweater. That, I think, was what made me break the kiss. I pulled away, letting my hand fall to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat pounding against my palm. Seemed like I wasn't the only one about to get carried away. What was it about whatever we had that made us both become so ravenous? I was extremely sexual to begin with, so I knew why I was all gung-ho about sex, but him… I don't know. He didn't seem the type. Or maybe I was reading him wrong. Maybe I was letting his upbringing and when he was from cloud my judgement. Then again, did it really matter as long as we went slowly? I didn't think it did.

I gave him a beatific smile. "I like that code word."

"I do, too," he grinned. "I'm going to have to be careful with my wording, though."

"Just a little bit," I said, humorously scrunching up my face. I need to get off this couch. I needed to get out of this situation before I started kissing him again and went too far. Our relationship was looking like it was going to be a test in patience. Then, I got an idea and my face brightened. "You know what today is?"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Today is a lazy Friday. That means," I grabbed his hand and scooted off the couch, "Harry Potter. We begin our journey tonight.

"You said we'd be doing that tomorrow," he replied, not moving.

"That was before I remembered that if you watch all eight movies in one day, you'll be sitting there for over nineteen hours," I said.

"Okay," he grinned, standing to tower over me. He motioned with his free hand to the large, empty hallway and added, "Lead the way to the wizarding world."

"We'll make a nerd of you yet," I said.

I took a few steps backwards, pulling him with me, and led him to one of the more private television rooms.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

I'd watched the movie curled up next to Steve, his arm once again hugging my shoulders. It turns out that a change of couches and the addition of a television screen was what I needed to keep my libido in check. After all, you don't have time to be horny when you're trying to not mouth every word of the movie you're watching. I may have seen it a few…hundred…times.

As the credits rolled up the screen, I pushed myself up, forcing Steve to loosen his grip. I leaned forward to grab the remote and switched off the movie, leaving my Amazon account page to take the place of the scrolling script.

"Thoughts? Feelings? Inevitable praises?" I asked as I leaned back.

His arm was instantly around my shoulders again, pulling me back in to his side. It seemed that he couldn't quite get enough of me now that I wasn't fighting him tooth and nail. Or, maybe, he just didn't want to deal with his morose thoughts for a while and was taking advantage of the comfort that touching me brought. Either way, he wasn't the only one who wanted that contact. The only difference was that, while he was eager to hold me, I was still having issues with letting him do it. Stupid anxiety ruins the party again. Even though I was worried about the ramifications that our budding relationship held, I settled back into the crook of his arm, keeping my body far enough away from his so that we could look at each other without hurting our necks.

"I liked it," he said. "I can finally understand what you're talking about."

"Aww," I said, sweetly. Shaking my head I added, "No."

He laughed and amended, "Maybe after I see all eight movies."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe."

"I don't understand why the Slytherin house is still allowed in the school. That blond-haired kid alone is-"

"A horrible, prejudiced twat monkey, I know," I interrupted again. "But, Draco and his goons don't represent the whole of Slytherin. Just the ones that turn Dark Side. And people from other houses go Dark Side, too."

"The whole premise of Slytherin is to be cunning and manipulative," Steve pointed out.

"That doesn't mean we do it out of malice. We can be morally ambiguous sometimes, sure, but we can use our powers for good," I countered.

"Like how you tricked that Hydra agent in the mall," Steve stated in understanding.

"Exactly," I said. "Or how you tricked me with the keyring."

A smile curled his lips at the memory. He had outsmarted me incredibly quickly, giving me a glimpse of his intelligence and his humor in one fell swoop. It had marked the beginning of our banter and had possibly started the romance ball rolling. You know, that and the impossible connection.

"How have you used it for good?" he asked.

"Well, one time I managed to get a CEO to admit that he'd been skimming money from employee payment funds to finance a terrorist cell. And he was cheating on his wife with multiple women," I replied.

"That is a good thing," he said with a single nod.

"Oh, really? I had no idea," I said, sarcastically.

All it took was one look at me, one flick of his eyes to my pleasantly sardonic face, for him to instantly change tack from serious to joking. He was nothing if not adaptive.

"It's not really obvious, so I don't blame you," he quipped.

"Yeah? How did you figure it out, then?" I asked.

"Deductive reasoning," he replied, simply.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Without missing a beat, he answered, "Yes."

That caught me off guard. A laugh, which sounded a lot like a giggle, burst from my lips and I bowed my head forward. The low rumble of Steve's chuckle tickled my ears, making it hard to not laugh even more. Everything about him was infectious, but nothing was more so than his laugh. Still giggling, I shook my hair out of my eyes, lifted my head, and managed a half-assed gasp.

"You're Captain America and Sherlock Holmes. Quick. Someone call the papers. It's a headline for the ages."

"'Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Predicts the Future,'" Steve offered.

"'Captain America's New Sidekick: Dr. John Watson,'" I said.

"The cane is secretly a sword," he joked.

"Oh, god," I laughed. "I really want to see that newspaper. Florida couldn't beat those headlines."

"What?" he asked with a chuckle.

Confusion had seeped in to his voice to entwine with the humor that still lingered there. His eyes still sparkled, but the pinch of his brow said he was having a difficult time figuring out what the hell I was talking about. Yeah, I'd have had that reaction, too. I wasn't even really sure where that had come from, or better yet, why I'd said it. It was looking a lot like another case of my brain not checking in with my mouth, and maybe not checking in with itself. Leave it to me to have my mind bypass my mind.

"Florida is known for its insane headlines," I explained, somewhat sheepishly.

Steve, bless his huge heart, must've heard my embarrassment, had probably seen it on my face, and decided to indulge me.

"Like what?" he asked, curiously.

"Um…stuff like 'Man Attacks Girlfriend with a Banana,'" I replied, relieved.

"Did that really happen?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," I nodded. "Florida's nuts."

"You're from there, right?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suddenly quite suspicious of how he knew that. I wasn't really, but it was fun to pretend. I liked it when we had this little back and forth. It let me know that he was human and not a robot made act like the perfect human.

"You been stalkin' me?" I asked, smirking at him.

"No," he chuckled. "It's in your file."

"Oh. That's not nearly as fun," I replied, trying to sound disappointed. I don't think it worked very well. It's hard to sound disappointed when you can't stop giggling.

Another grin spread across his handsome face and he looked down. Gods, he was cute when he did that. Actually, he was cute all the time, but that grin was just adorable. As he glanced down at me, I felt his hand move against my arm, the fabric of my shirt dulling the sensation. I kind of wished that I'd shifted the shirt so my right shoulder would be the naked one. That way I could feel his fingers on my skin again and have the wonderful illusion that something lascivious was about to happen. Then again, that was probably a bad idea. I was trying to be good. Go slow, woman. Go slow.

"What's Florida like?" he asked, his voice taking on a more serious note.

"Hot," I replied with a gentle laugh. "Very hot."

"Just hot?" he inquired. "Nothing else?"

"Rainy. Hot and rainy. It's very humid. To quote Dylan Moran, 'It's always wet, even when it's dry.' You step outside and you feel like you just walked into a pool. You're practically breathing in water. It's a miracle people don't drown just walking down the street. I think I saw someone with gills once, though, so that might explain some things," I joked.

That got another laugh out of him. I liked that he was interested in my history, in hearing my past from me and not from a few typed words. We were getting to know each other beyond my issues and his fame, beyond the superhuman abilities and powers, beyond the battlefield. We were getting to know each other as humans. It looked like we were starting to build the house on top of our impossible foundation.

Physical contact, I was, sure, was part of building the metaphorical house, too. So, I added another stud to the wall, lifting my right hand to lace my fingers with his hand on my shoulder. He instantly lifted away from my shoulder, his large hand nearly swallowing mine, his fingers hitting just above my wrist. As cheesy as it was, it felt like a perfect fit, like my hand was meant to be in his. I hadn't felt like that with anyone I'd dated. It was looking more and more like that soulmate thing wasn't a bunch of supernatural bullshit. That would have scared the hell out of me if I hadn't been touching him.

"Um, let's see," I continued, casually. "Sometimes it rains when it's sunny. We can't even escape the rain whenever there's one little cloud in the sky. Speaking of rain, we have four seasons, uh, different from everyone else. There's hurricane, lovebug, summer, and less hot summer."

"What is a lovebug?" he interrupted.

"It's a type of fly," I said nonchalantly. "They are really good at covering the front bumper of your car. Five minutes on the road and it looks like you got a macabre paintjob."

He gave a little nod of understanding and I kept going.

"Like I said, we have a lot crazy people. I think it's the sunshine, or maybe there's a lot of meth in the water system, but people go nuts. We have had two attempted cannibals in four years. I think that's a record."

Steve looked like he didn't believe a word I'd just said and was waiting for me to tell him I was kidding. When I didn't, he frowned a bit and asked "You're not kidding, are you?"

"No," I replied. "It happened in Tallahassee and Miami, which are on opposite sides of the state, so we have crazy going from top to bottom. We don't fuck around down there."

"I guess not," Steve said. He added, "How can they be attempted cannibals?"

"Well, without going in to too many details, they didn't swallow. They just… chewed," I replied.

Horror slowly spread across his face at the thought of such a thing happening. Well, it was either that or he was horrified that I was joking about the criminally insane deeds of Floridians. After all, he'd fought more horrific things than cannibals. In my opinion, at least.

"I know, it's horrible," I said, trying to soothe his concern for both the crimes and my indifference. "They were caught, though, so there's a happy ending. And if you don't laugh, you'll lose faith in humanity. Dark humor is how I deal. I have my dad for a father. There was no way I wasn't going to have a dark sense of humor."

"I'll have to learn to get used to that. For your upbringing's sake." he said, a small smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

"And I'll have to learn to tone it down, for yours," I said.

His smile turned into a grateful upturning of lips. My explanation had worked to smooth a layer of rose petals over the shit. Hooray. With that thought, I realized that I'd lost some of the happiness that the conversation had had, what with bug corpses and cannibals and all that, so I did an about-face.

"Okay, so that was all really negative," I said.

"Yes, it was," he said with a chuckle.

"So, good things. It's beautiful down there. There are palm trees galore. Pools are everywhere. You drive four hours east or west and you hit a beach. We have these beautiful parks and springs and lakes. If you're in a lake or a swamp, you have to look out for the gators that look like they came from Chernobyl because they're so damn huge, but if you're in a boat, you're okay. Oh, and gators just walk around like they're pedestrians. They cross the street way more than you think they would. And then we have the snakes big enough to eat those gators, because fuck it, nature wants us to be terrified so it goes full out.

"And while we do have those crazy scary things, we have some awesome stuff, too. There's actually a little strip of land right down the middle of Florida called the Lake Wales Ridge. Back when Florida was still part of the ocean floor, there were these little islands, and all kinds of animals and plants started living and growing there. The ground is all sand, so it doesn't hold water, so the plants adapted. Their leaves started to hold water like cups and the tree trunks became resistant to fire. They would drop their dead leaves, like all plants do, and every few years, when lightning struck, everything would go up in flames and the ashes would become nutrients. But the trees kept their green branches high and let dead leaves around the trunk burn. The scrubs would regenerate, in a way, and in no time the area would be back to normal. And the animals would either fly away or burrow to get away from the fire. It's actually home to a bunch of rare and endangered species that can only be found in one or two other places in the entire world. "

I looked up and found that Steve was watching me intently, blue eyes blazing as he listened to my soft-spoken history lesson as if I were talking about the secret of the universe. His eyes scanned my face, and I couldn't tell if he was memorizing my features or trying to keep from kissing me.

"Did you ever go there?" he asked in a low voice.

"Mhmm," I nodded, trying to ignore the way his voice slid over my skin. "I lived about ten miles away from it. It was pretty cool. You could see the gopher tortoise burrows. Didn't see any tortoises, though. They were all hiding."

"I don't know why they would hide from you," he teased.

His voice was getting louder again, moving away from the bedroom tones it had taken on. Yeah, he'd wanted to kiss me. Ugh, this was not easy. Funny. Say something funny.

"Stop it," I said, smacking the back of my hand against his thigh again. "You're going to give me a cavity with all that sweetness."

"I'm okay with that," he joked.

I felt his thumb brush the side of my hand, and it was suddenly much more difficult to form a proper thought. He was too close, looking at me like I was this amazing thing, his fingers playing across my skin while his lips and words played with my mind. Say something. Say anything.

"Oh, ha ha," I said. "You're not gonna be the one paying the dental bills. Now stop being so impossibly cute and tell me about Brooklyn."

Grinning, he opened his mouth to speak, paused, then said, "I didn't know I was being impossibly cute, so how can I stop?"

"I don't know," I replied, shrugging in faux exasperation. "I don't have answers to impossible questions."

He glanced down again, letting out a soft laugh of a breath of air. His thumb stroked my hand again as his chest lifted with a new breath.

"Brooklyn," he said, thoughtfully, flicking his eyes up to me.

The look on his face said that he knew what I was doing. He knew that I was changing the subject so he'd stop looking at me, so he'd stop affecting me with his blue eyes and soft tones, so I wouldn't feel the need to either squirm or blush. Once again, he let me change the conversation to something less romantic, and I let out an inward whoop of excitement. I wasn't so good with the romance.

"It didn't have palm trees," he started. "There were a lot of brick and mortar buildings, though, a lot of stores with big storefront windows. When you walked down the street, you'd see people sitting on the steps in front of their apartment building or standing in front of a store, smoking and talking. The kids that weren't working were outside playing. Sometimes they'd take up the entire street so they could play stickball, or ride their bikes or homemade scooters. There wasn't a single kid that didn't go outside and play. When winter came, everyone was making a snowman or having a snowball fight. There was a big snowball fight on my street one year. I think every kid for a five-block radius was out there."

"Were you?" I asked.

"I was. I wasn't very good at it, but it was fun," he replied.

"Did anyone accidentally roll up any rocks in their snowball?" I asked, curiously.

"Yes," he chuckled. "That's why it happened just that one year. Someone almost broke a window."

"Darn kids and their rocky snowballs," I joked. I gently touched my palm to his leg and added, "I'm sorry. Go on."

"Let's see," he said, his voice shaking with a suppressed chuckle. "If you lived near the Brooklyn Bridge you could see them working on the skyscrapers. I was twelve when they finished the Empire State Building. Every newspaper you picked up had some sort of headline about the grand opening. I heard the train was packed that day. The bridge had trains and streetcars back then. A lot of people still relied on public transportation. It's not too different from now, in that regard. I think everything was more beautiful back then. It might be nostalgia, but everything seemed brighter and more beautiful when I was a kid. Then the Depression hit and it seemed like everything went dark. It might have just been how much people were struggling, but the neighborhoods felt different. Somber. Then a fair or a festival would happen and it was like everyone was given new life. They forgot about everything for a while. I didn't get to see much of New York after the war started so I'm not sure how it fared then, but it looks like it did pretty well for itself."

"Eh, it did alright," I quipped. "What was it like, touring the country as Captain America and making all those movies?"

I heard Steve smile as he said, "I wasn't a fan. Let's just say that."

"Which means it sucked," I said.

"It wasn't all bad. Getting people to support the troops and giving families hope was good. I just wasn't meant to do that. I needed to be out on the battlefield."

"Something tells me you're better with a gun than you are with a stage. They were idiots for not letting you fight in the first place," I said.

"I wasn't what Colonel Phillips wanted. I was a puny kid who happened to be a science experiment, and that wasn't his army," Steve explained.

"He was a fool," I said. "Small in stature does not mean small in courage or heart. You had the makings of a great soldier from the very start, long before any serum. And after the serum you were literally perfect for the job. He was just too blind to see it."

"I won't argue with you on that, but I think it was what had to happen, even if I didn't like it at the time. If I hadn't become Captain America, I wouldn't have been in the right place at the right time to save Bucky and all of those soldiers," he said.

"True," I said with a little sideways nod. "It was one hell of a way to prove yourself, too. Go big or go home, right?"

"Right," Steve said. "And I wasn't going planning on leaving anytime soon."

Yet another smile tweaked my lips. Leave it to him to be a super-badass when no one else would even think of trying. Leave it to him to prove Colonel Phillips wrong, to prove that he wasn't Dr. Erskine's lab rat. He had always been what the Army needed.

We sat there in silence for a moment or two, neither of us knowing what to say, neither of us wanting to say anything. His thumb played across my skin, sending tingles up my arm and I felt him bury his face in my hair. I could almost picture his eyes closing as the breath filled his chest, could almost feel his bottom lip quiver as he sighed. My eyes fluttered closed, my mind and body allowing me to enjoy him without worrying about sex or love or other people's thoughts. All too soon, though, the real world was crashing back down around me, being pulled in by Steve's voice.

"We should probably eat something," he said.

Frowning, I opened my eyes and looked at the analog clock on the wall. Holy crap, it was eight o'clock.

"Fuck," I breathed. A bit louder, I added, "Yeah, that might be a good idea. Shit, did Barnes get anything to eat yet?"

"Yeah. I brought him something before I left," Steve replied.

"Good," I replied, pulling my hand from his so I could stand. "It would kind of suck if we brought him back only to have him starve to death."

"You know I would never let that happen," Steve replied.

He pushed up from the couch as I returned the television to normal and switched it off. My hair fell in my face as I set the remote back down, and I ran my fingers through the silky strands to push them away from my face, turning to look at Steve. He was staring at me again, and not like he was horny. I think I might have been able to deal with that a lot easier. Or maybe not. I'd chosen this room because it was kind of secluded so we wouldn't be disturbed while watching the movie, which meant we wouldn't be disturbed if we did… other things.

But no, it wasn't lust I saw; it was admiration. It was awe. It was like he'd just watched a nebula form in front of his very eyes. It was the look he'd given me earlier, when I'd been talking about the Ridge, the one that made me think he wanted to kiss me. It was romantic and downright loving, and I'd never been good with either of those things. Sex, sure, but romance had always made me itchy. But now, I realized, I was becoming okay with it. I'd cuddled up to him, held his hand, let him kiss my head, and do all that gag-worthy romantic crap, and I was okay with it. And I wasn't okay with that. I couldn't win for losing. I was trying, though, dammit, so I couldn't hit him on the shoulder and tell him to stop making googly eyes at me. I mean, I could, but it would set us both back. I didn't want to go back, even if I didn't want to admit how I really felt, and even if fear was trying to push me away from him.

"I know," I said, managing to break away from my swirling thoughts. "You'd bring him an entire cow if you could."

"An entire cow sounds pretty good right now," he joked.

"Well, we know you're not a vegetarian," I said. "I don't think we have an entire cow, but I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"Scrounge?" he asked with a playful smirk.

I let out the second giggle of the night and said, "Shut up."

I walked away, Steve's laugh following my every step as I made my way to the hall.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

We didn't have any cow, or any thawed meat for that matter, but we did have the makings of an alfredo sauce. I'd started working on it immediately, telling Steve that he had to sit this one out since I had the recipe in my head. I think the only places it was written down were being carefully hidden in Carulo kitchens.

The resulting dinner was excellent and the conversation was even better. I asked Steve about his drawing, curious to know how long he'd been at it and what he would scratch out with his pencil. He said he'd been drawing for about as long as he could remember and that nothing was off limits to him. Trains, buildings, monkeys on a wire, he drew everything. He wished he still had his old journals from his childhood and the days of the war, and all of the memories stored inside the yellowing pages, but he wasn't too beat up about it. He said that he was already close to filling up the journal he had now. When I asked if he wouldn't mind showing me his work sometime, he'd given me one of those innocent smiles and said he would like that.

He'd turned the conversation to me, then, asking what artistic talents I had. I suppose he guessed that Katie couldn't have gotten all of the creative stuff. He was right. I told him I was a writer, which didn't surprise him seeing as how I was a wordsmith of sorts. However, his eyes had widened just a touch when I told him I played piano and guitar, and sang, with him carefully pointing out that I had not done a good job of singing at the house. I told him it was a bit difficult to sing on key when you couldn't hear yourself. He nodded his understanding, saying that he couldn't hear himself think over the music coming from my earbuds. Before I could open my mouth to argue that there was no way he could have heard that music, he'd asked if he could hear me perform. I'd reluctantly agreed. The last time I'd performed in front of anyone had been at least six years ago. Plus, I always got nervous during small performances. If it wasn't a crowd, I wasn't comfortable. But hey, he was going to show me his art, so it was the least I could do to show him mine. I quickly told him that it would be a while since the base didn't have a harmonica, let alone a piano or guitar.

We'd carried on talking while we washed, dried, and put away the dishes, including the tea mug I'd left by the foot of the couch. I needed to remember that I wasn't living alone anymore and that I couldn't leave my mug lying around while I tried to decide whether I wanted more tea or not. I was already missing my apartment.

Thanks to the stray mug, the conversation had shifted to living alone, and whether we felt it was lonely or calming, slowing melting into wondering why people would feel alone even when they were surrounded by others.

We hadn't even come close to a conclusion when we broke away to go to our separate locker rooms so we could get ready for bed. I'd brushed my teeth and washed my face and all that jazz before making my way back to the room.

Steve wasn't there when I walked in. The men's locker room wasn't that far away, so he should have been back by now. Still, I was pretty certain that nothing had attacked him in the time we'd been apart, seeing as how the halls were devoid of sound, so he was probably just getting in some alone time. I didn't blame him. People, even awesome people, were exhausting.

Speaking of exhausting, the weight of the day had caught up with me the second my hand had touched the doorknob, rapidly draining me of my remaining energy. The emotional weight had taken its toll, and the workout and compounding lack of sleep didn't help. I was so tired that I didn't really notice the new ceiling-high black plastic wall, complete with a sliding door that had a frosted glass window, until I was opening it. I slid it closed behind me and made my way to the bed, sliding under covers with heavy arms and eyelids. I'd barely had time to register the bedroom door opening or the pillow under my head before I was out like a broken light.

It felt like I was almost immediately thrust back into the real world, the room dimly lit by the kitchen light. The brown couch beneath my body was comfortable, trying desperately to pull me back under, but the firmness under my head and the weight over my stomach told me to open my eyes. I blinked, staring up at the silhouette that towered over me. Blond hair shifted in the light as the person moved, their hand slipping from my waist as they took a deep breath.

"We fell asleep," Steve mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Tends to happen when you're comfortable," I replied, tiredly.

Steve turned his shadowed face down to look at me and my hand was suddenly there, cupping his cheek, my body pulling out of his lap so I could kiss him. He happily returned the kiss before helping me sit up.

"On that note," I said, sliding off the couch, "I think it's time to get into an actual bed."

"That is an excellent idea," Steve replied. He stretched his arms out in front of him, loosening the tension in his shoulders. "Go lie down. I'll be right in."

"Don't take too long. You'll pass out on the floor," I yawned.

With that quip floating between us, I turned toward the bedroom door, stifling another yawn as I shuffled across the living room. Something slammed in to my side with a force of a speeding car, spinning me through the air until the wall stopped me, my back slamming into it. The invisible force pinned me to the wall. I couldn't move and I couldn't breathe.

Steve was standing just in front of the couch, turned toward me with a look of confusion and alarm on his face. He took one step to run to my side before surprise widened his eyes and parted his lips, his body staggering to a stop. As if he were in a horror movie, he slowly looked down. My eyes followed his. There, in the center of his chest, was a gaping hole and a blood-covered hand holding his heart. Panic overtook me, what air I had left in my failing lungs rushing away like I'd been punched in the ribs. The hand yanked itself backward, taking his heart with it. I tried to scream as his knees hit the floor, as he toppled backwards in a heap, a pool of dark, important blood spreading out around his greying body. I tried to scream, but there was no air left to scream with. All I could do was open my mouth in a silent cry. And then I heard it, the happy laugh that made my blood run cold.

I ripped my eyes away from Steve as the blood starting to stain his hair. The dripping hand tossed his heart to the floor like a child tossing away a boring toy. My eyes roved up the arm. I didn't have to guess who it was. I knew. I knew before I saw the matted brown hair falling over her shoulder, before I saw her angry, glassy hazel eyes, before I saw the hole in her forehead.

"You really think you can be happy?" she said with a high-pitched laugh.

Her smile wasn't nearly as cruel as her words or as horrid as her appearance. No. It was still as sweet and infectious as I remembered, still so beautifully bright that it could light up an entire house. My heart hurt to see it again, to see the dirty face that held it. Tears stung my eyes and burned my cheeks. She took a step toward me, the growing crimson pool just narrowly missing her shoe as she stalked forward.

"After what you did, you think you deserve that? You think you deserve _him_? You think you can hold on to him? Are you that ignorant? You couldn't even hold on to me, and I'm your sister. All your power, all your so-called love, and you couldn't, wouldn't, save me. What makes you think you can save him? What makes you think you can love him without consequences?"

The world seemed to flash white, and she was suddenly in front of me, her broken nails digging in to my chest. Her fingers punched through my ribs to grip my still beating heart. She leaned forward. Cold, rancid breath, stale with death, washed over my face.

"Little tip, big sis. You can't," she growled.

Her eyes bore into mine, pain searing my chest as she squeezed, crushing my heart in her fist.

I woke with a start, my wide eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. Sweet, cool air rushed into my burning lungs. The grey ceiling above me came into focus, becoming a halo for side-swept blond hair. Steve was hovering over me. He looked worried, more worried than I think I'd ever seen him, his eyebrows pinched until a little mound formed between them, his eyes frantically studying my face. I could feel a hand on my arm, sending soothing tingles over my skin. His other hand hovered just above my neck, radiating heat onto the cool flesh. He was almost completely on the bed, kneeling with one knee a mere centimeter from my hip while the other leg had grabbed on to the side of the mattress in case he needed to quickly get off the bed and run for help. Even through the haze of sleep and his hand on me, I felt as if something terrible had happened. I grabbed on to that feeling, letting it lift me from the bed until I sat up, forcing Steve to sit back on his heel. I heard his other foot hit the ground as he firmly planted it into the carpet.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, I asked, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

I looked around the room, looking for any sign of a struggle, my ears straining to listen for the sounds of fighting. There was nothing. Strong hands caught my face, forcing me to look at the still very distressed man kneeling next to me.

"You stopped breathing," he said.

Blue eyes skirted over my features again before locking on mine, examining me. His thumb swiped under my eye, wiping a wet streak across my cheek. As if waiting they were waiting to be recognized, my eyes started burning, my tear ducts stinging as if they had been leaking acid rather than salt water.

Confusion cut a thin path through the haze, my mind desperately trying to explain why I would have been crying, and more importantly, why I would have stopped breathing. Then, it hit me. I'd had another nightmare, one that felt so much worse than the rest. I instantly glanced down at Steve's chest to look for the ruined hole where his heart should be. I knew it was stupid, that my mind was just playing tricks on me, but the dream had felt so real. A whimper built in my throat as I saw that there wasn't so much as a speck of blood on his grey t-shirt. I swallowed the whimper before it could reach my tongue, but I didn't swallow the question bubbling in my chest.

"How did you know I wasn't breathing?" I asked, looking up again.

Steve slid his hands down, one resting on my upper arm while the other settled over the side of my neck, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

"You sounded like you were having another nightmare," he said, eyebrows still pinched. "When I came over to check on you, you weren't breathing."

I hadn't been breathing in the dream. I'd stopped as soon as I'd hit the wall. And I'd been crying, right after Katie had... I'd been right. The dreams were getting worse; they were starting to spill over into real life.

I suddenly had the urge to fall into him, to rest my head on his shoulder and let him wrap his arms around me, to have him hold me while I put myself back together. He would do it, too. He would let me break down on him and he wouldn't judge me while I did it. I think that's what made the temptation stronger. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't let myself break down. I didn't have time for a breakdown. There were more important things to deal with, like freeing Barnes and taking out Hydra. I had to just suck it up and keep going. I had to stay strong. And I had to say something, anything, to get that concerned look off Steve's face so he would leave me alone and go back to sleep. Wait, had he even been asleep?

"Were you already awake?" I asked.

"Yeah," Steve replied.

Dammit. See, I was so busy focusing on me and my garbage that it never occurred to me that Steve was having a bad night, too. I wasn't the only one with nightmares.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he replied. From the looks of it, he wasn't lying. Or maybe he was forcing himself to be okay, and that wasn't okay. And that was the pot calling the kettle black. " _You_ are not."

Surprise, and a touch of indignation, dimly flitted through me. I forced it to widen my eyes, leaning back from him a bit.

"I'm fine," I lied. "I probably just have sleep apnea or something."

"Dani," he said, his tone a mix of warning, exasperation, and worry. "It's not sleep apnea and we both know it. The nightmares are getting worse. You've gone from screaming to not breathing. I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to talk to someone about it. Talk to me, talk to a therapist, but talk to someone. If you keep going like this, it's going to kill you."

I wanted to be angry with him for suggesting I couldn't handle this on my own, I really did, but I just couldn't seem to hold on to the sliver of anger that slipped through my mind. His touch made it so I barely felt any of my usual negative emotions, and logic kept me from wrapping my fingers around that tiny remaining shard. He was right, but how do you tell someone that your dead sister keeps killing them because you don't think you deserve to have a happy life with the best thing that's ever happened to you? How do you tell them something like that after you just allowed yourself to really care for them? How do you tell a therapist that? That sounded like a recipe for a hug-me jacket and a padded cell.

"No. I can handle this. We have bigger things to deal with," I argued.

"You mean Bucky?" he asked.

"Yeah. And Hydra," I replied.

"If you wait for other problems to clear up before you fix your own, you will never fix your problems. You have to face it now, not later, otherwise it might be too late. You read psychology books. You know this," he said, sagely.

I blinked at him, stared into those drowning pools that were once again begging me to understand and accept what I didn't want to acknowledge. My mouth went dry under that heavy gaze, making it hard to swallow anything, let alone the truth. But he was right. Again.

"I don't know how to talk about it," I admitted.

"You'll figure it out," he replied, "and I'll help you."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wanted to tell him I'd be fine without him, and without some head-shrinking crackpot of a therapist, but I also really wanted to thank him for offering advice and help. I wanted to tell him everything, every happiness and fear I felt during every dream about him, and how he kept dying in front of me at the hands of my sister's enraged walking corpse. I couldn't bring myself to do any of it. So, I just sat there in silence as I tried to think of a way to tell him to go back to bed without sounding dismissive of both him and his well-meaning suggestions.

"Alright," he said into the quiet. "Stay here."

My eyes focused on him as he let go of me and started getting off the bed. He had a determined look on his face, and I got the feeling he was about to do something I wasn't going to agree with, like make me an appointment with a shrink. Which was a stupid thought since no therapist in their right mind would answer the phone at this hour, whatever that was.

"Where are you going? What are you doing?" I asked, anxiety and suspicion slamming into me.

Dammit, dealing with emotions was so much easier when he was touching me.

"I'm sleeping over here tonight," he replied. I opened my mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off. "I want to make sure you don't stop breathing again and I can't do that from the other side of the room." I opened my mouth again to ask where he was planning to sleep, but he cut me off once more. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"How can you make sure I'm breathing if you're on the floor?" I asked, the words rapidly spilling from my mouth so he couldn't interrupt me. "It was probably a one-time thing, anyway. I'll be fine."

"I'm not willing to risk it," he replied. "And I'm a light sleeper. I'll hear you."

I don't know what made me say it, or what didn't stop me from saying it, but I blurted out, "Then wouldn't it just be easier to sleep in the bed?"

He'd started backing away from the bed, and his muscles tensed as he paused mid-step to stare at me. A shadow of a smile turned up his lips.

"Yes. I didn't want to suggest it, though. I didn't know how you would react," he replied.

I could see why. I was pretty all over the place when it came to him. Why did he like me, again?

"That's completely fair. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we've slept in the same bed before, and if you're so set on doing this, we might as make it easier. Besides, the floor's not comfortable."

The small smile faded from his lips as he studied me for the second time that night, measuring my surety against my visible apprehension. It was a fight to not squirm under that gaze, to not slide my sweater over my shoulder in a symbolic motion of hiding from him. Somehow, I managed, not moving so much as a finger as he regarded me.

"Are you sure?" he asked, a touch too softly for my liking.

No.

"Yes," I replied.

"We don't have to-"

"Please don't make me overthink it," I interrupted.

A deep breath filled and emptied his chest, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Okay."

He turned away and took a few long strides before disappearing through the open screen door. My stomach lurched with nervousness as the light on his side of the room turned off and he stepped back through the door, sliding it closed behind him.

What the hell was I doing? I admit I have feelings for him and then immediately go and start sleeping in the same bed with him like we've been dating for months? This was going to burn me in some way. I just knew it. Why had I even suggested it, again? Oh, right. I was an idiot who didn't think before I spoke when I was talking to him, because apparently my brain liked having a civil war.

But, it was his idea to sleep over here in the first place, he wasn't going to take no for an answer, and I wasn't going to make him sleep on the floor. It was just plain polite to have him sleep in the bed. And if I were being honest with myself, I was kind of excited to sleep next to him again. He was solid and warm, and I didn't seem to have nightmares when I was curled up next to him. The fact that I liked him helped. Still, none of that made this a good idea. I was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Butterflies fluttered to life as he approached the bed. Too nervous to say anything, I scooted over so he could slide in next to me. I watched him as his legs disappeared under the sheets, as he draped the grey fabric across his waist and lay on his back. He stretched his right arm out behind me, creating a space next to his body for me to cuddle into. Apparently, we were going all out. I didn't know if I should complain that this was too intimate or be happy that he wanted to be this intimate. I mean, I could just sleep completely on the other side of the bed. The problem was, I might have another nightmare and set fire to everything around me if I stayed away from him, and I was almost positive that wouldn't happen if I were touching him. Fuck it. We were going for it.

Pushing my hair behind my ear, I lowered myself into the warm crook of his arm. All it took was one touch to melt most of my nervousness away and I nestled in to him, resting my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest, trapping my left arm between our bodies. I could feel his heart beating out a rapid cadence against my palm. His arm at my back curled around me, pulling me in closer. He shifted and the room was cast into darkness with a click as he turned my lamp off. His hand instantly found mine on his chest and held it there, his thumb stroking my skin. His heart started pounding harder and faster than before. It seemed I wasn't the only one who was nervous and/or excited. And yet…

"You can't do this when Barnes is in here," I said into the darkness.

"He won't mind," he replied. "And if he does, we'll work something out."

"I'll be fine. You don't have to-"

"We'll work something out," he repeated.

There was a tone of finality in his voice that said the topic was closed for discussion and that he wasn't going to change his mind. So, I didn't argue. I didn't think I wanted to anymore. Exhaustion had caught up with me again, much heavier this time thanks to the surge of adrenaline, which was now being sucked out of my system. The cool tingles that spread through my body at Steve's touch, the warmth and firmness body, the heaviness of his hands, and the way his thumb made slow circles on the back of my hand calmed me. I closed my eyes, giving my body over to the sensations he elicited. Sleep tugged at me.

"Steve?" I managed.

"Hmn?" he said, quietly.

"Thank you."

"Any time," he whispered.

All too soon, I felt myself being dragged away from my slumber, the light of the morning filtering through the slatted blinds so it could bathe my eyelids. Something heavy was pressing on my arm and hand, holding me to a solid, breathing mass. A gentle drum greeted my palm, welcoming me to the day. For the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to open my eyes to see what the morning had brought me.

I carefully opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the light in the room, and found myself staring at a chest covered in grey cotton and a hand holding mine. I was still next to Steve, using his shoulder as a pillow. So, sleeping next to him hadn't been a dream. In fact, I don't think my mind had come up with even an idea for a dream after we'd fallen asleep. More than that, it seemed like I hadn't moved all night. None of that was normal for me. I didn't know whether I should be ecstatic or worried that I might become dependent on his nightly touch. I quickly decided to not worry about it right now. There were better things to focus on.

Like the way that Steve's chest gently rose and fell with shallow breaths, the way his heart was calm under my hand, the way we fit together like puzzle pieces, and how over the moon I felt about waking up beside him. Oh, I was still as nervous as I could be with him touching me, but there was an odd excitement about him being the first thing I saw in the morning. I wasn't sure I'd ever been so happy to wake up next to someone.

I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay there with him sleeping next to me for as long as possible. I actually closed my eyes again, hoping to fall back asleep and prolong this weirdly wonderful moment. But it wasn't going to happen. Steve took a deep breath and slowly let it out, telling me he was waking up. I opened my eyes again and looked up. His face was turned away from me, but I could see his long eyelashes move, could see his eyes flutter open to lazily stare at the wall, could see the way his lightly stubbled jaw clenched as he processed the world coming into focus around him. His hands tightened around me, drawing me in closer as he took another deep breath. He carefully turned his head to look at me, and I watched as his pupils dilated until the blue ring of his irises were a bare strip of color. If I ever had any questions about him attracted to me, they would have all been laid to rest right there. The eyes don't lie. Not when it comes to liking someone.

A big smile spread across his face and he said, "Good morning."

Yes, it was.

"Good morning," I replied. It had been a long time since I'd said those two words together. "How'd you sleep?"

He seemed to think about that for a moment, his brow furrowing as he gauged how he felt.

"Great," he said. "Better than I have in a while. You? Anymore nightmares?"

"Nope. It was a gloriously dreamless sleep," I replied.

"I'm glad I stayed over here, then," he said.

"Me, too," I admitted. Then, I added, "Thanks again. I haven't slept that well in years."

Speaking of sleep, I wanted more. While I was happy to wake up next to him, I still wasn't a morning person, and getting me out of bed usually took five alarms and/or a lot of willpower. Laying there, next to him, I had no willpower, and there were no alarms to speak of. Therefore, I was going to drag this out for as long as possible. I shifted my head again, moving it back so I could stare at my hand on his chest, and closed my eyes again.

"No problem," he said, his voice carrying a hint of confusion. "Are you getting up?"

"Nope. Not yet. Five…ten more minutes," I replied. "Maybe twenty."

Steve's chest shook with a soft, breathy laugh. His arm around me tightened and loosened in a quick hug, as if my refusal to get up were an endearing trait. Most people found it to be annoying.

"Are you going to let me get up?"

"Nope. You're stuck here. Wake me up when it's nighttime, will you?"

"That's not twenty minutes," he said softly.

"I lied about the twenty minutes," I retorted.

Another gentle laugh shook his chest and, suddenly, my hand was free of his grip. I had less than a second to wonder what he was doing before I felt his fingers under my chin, tilting my face upwards. Surprised as I could be, my eyes popped open and I blinked at him as he turned my face toward his. I didn't even have time to think of asking him what he was doing before his lips were on mine.

I think he meant it to be just a peck, just a quick something to either wake me up or show his affection. It didn't end up that way. Maybe it was because we were both tired and our inhibitions were lowered, or maybe it was because we were in a bed together with nothing but thin clothes between us, but the simple, sweet peck was swiftly turned into more when he locked his lips on mine. He parted his lips in that tantalizing motion that always made a kiss deeper, the one that made it seem like you might pull away from someone just before you captured them again. I met his every move, my hand balling into a fist around his shirt to keep me from wandering.

There was a new tension in him and it made me feel like he was trying extremely hard to hold back. That made two of us. I wanted nothing more than to straddle him or pull him on top of me. It wouldn't hurt anything, right? As long as we didn't go any further, it wasn't a big deal, right? Ugh, wrong. I knew me. If I let this go any further, I'd be trying to get his sweatpants off in ten minutes after I finally gave up the fight of being good. That's why, when he started to move his hand from my chin to my cheek, I broke away.

I opened my eyes, which had closed the second he kissed me, to look up at him. There was fire in his eyes, a passion, that was demanding an outlet. It reminded me of me. I was usually the one with the fire in their eyes, the one who let their libido take control until buttons popped and the bed creaked in protest. I highly doubted Steve would let his mounting ardor take control of him, but he seemed like he would be the more level-headed one when it came to all of this.

I couldn't help but feel, yet again, that we were balancing each other out. He was the air to my fire, either calming me down or letting me flare up, and I was the fire to his ice, a warm reprieve from the cold or something to melt him completely. He was the hot one in this. He was the one trying to desperately hold back while pushing forward. I was the one pulling back completely so the flames didn't engulf us.

And I think he realized how far he'd gone without meaning to, because a hint of sheepishness passed over his face. His tongue danced over his lips, licking the taste of me from them, his teeth quickly gripping his bottom lip before he released it again. He didn't want to seem to focus on any part of my face, his eyes flicking from my eyes to my lips and back again. When he finally settled on a feature, which happened to be my eyes, he parted his lips and drew a breath. He looked like he was about to apologize. Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen.

"I never thought I'd ever say this sentence, but that was better than coffee," I said cutting him off.

A laugh burst from his lips and he tilted his face toward the ceiling, his full lips stretching into a wide grin.

"I'll take that as the compliment it is," he chuckled, glancing down at me again.

"That's more than a compliment," I scoffed. "It's a miracle."

"In that case," he said thoughtfully, smile still in place, "I feel special."

"You should."

"Does that mean you're awake?"

"Yes. That doesn't mean I want to get up, though," I replied.

"Neither do I," Steve said, "but we have to."

Even though his admission was enough to make me giddy, I let out a groan of protest. I just wanted to lay there between the sheets for hours and talk about everything we could think of. Whoever had the stupid idea of doing stuff on weekends needed to be killed. And if they were already dead, they needed to resurrected and killed. I did need to get up, though. I had important things I needed to do today, like create a voodoo resurrection spell.

"Sometimes I really hate it when you're right," I muttered. "I'll go get us some coffee."

I kissed his shoulder, which ended up being a bad idea because I had to try very hard to not concentrate on how good his hard body felt under my mouth, then turned my face up to place a quick peck on his lips. I quickly pulled away before either of us could deepen the kiss and pushed myself up with a soft grunt that sounded a bit too much like a moan for my liking. He reluctantly released me. His hand on my cheek fell to rest on his chest and his arm around my shoulder slid down all the way down to my waist before it fell limply to the mattress.

The second his hand left my body, my brain started screaming at me that I was the biggest idiot on the planet. What was I doing?! Making out was one thing, but making out in bed was reserved for long-term couples and people who were fucking. We were neither of those, so what in the ever-loving fuck was wrong with me? We were moving too fast. _I_ was moving too fast. This was bad. This was really b-

In an instant, the racing thoughts were lost behind a thick cloud. There was a heavy weight around my right wrist pushing up the fabric of my sweater so a thumb could rub calming circles over my skin. I'd made it to the edge of the bed without realizing I'd moved. Well, that wasn't good. I turned to look over my shoulder, finding Steve still on his back, his large hand swallowing my wrist and a pleading look in his eyes.

"Don't overthink it," he said, firmly.

"Sorry," I said with a guilty, apologetic smile. "Force of habit. It's going to take a little while to unlearn."

"I picked up on that," he said, teasingly. Then he added, much more seriously, "Just, please, don't pull away again."

"I won't," I said, instantly. "I like you too much. You're not getting rid of me anytime soon."

And I meant it. Hell, even if I didn't, the beaming, downright proud, smile Steve gave me would have given me no choice but to mean it. I pulled on my wrist and he let me go so I could slide out of the bed completely. My mind had started up again once he'd stopped touching me, but now I was countering every unhelpful thought with a simple "hush."

After stepping through the sliding door, I closed it again, hoping to give Steve a bit of privacy in case anyone was in the hallway. They probably wouldn't be, seeing as how it was the weekend and everyone on base was probably outside pulling guard duty, but still. It was better to be safe than sorry.

I'd just opened the bedroom door when I heard a muffled, semi-frustrated sigh, followed by a groan, the rustle of sheets, and matching thumps. Fabric brushed together, then came the gentle hush of skin sliding on carpet. What the hell was he doing? Wait. Was he…? Oh, my gods. Was he doing push-ups? Another, larger thump followed by a yet another frustrated groan told me that, yes, he was doing push-ups. Or trying to. Working off the built up sexual energy with a quick workout wasn't always as easy as it sounded.

Stifling a chuckle, I quietly closed the door and made my way down the hall. At least now I knew just how much I affected him. I was going to have to be a lot more careful with my physical attentions. No more making out, no more "office," and definitely no more sleeping in the same bed until he was ready to have sex. Temptation is easier to deny if it's not there in the first place, right? But let's face it, he _was_ my temptation. We would just have to hold back a bit more. And if I really thought about it, teasing and waiting always made the sex better. Huh. Maybe I could use this information in the future. If we had that type of future.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

It was about fifteen minutes before I finally starting heading back to the room, two black mugs of coffee in hand. Fifteen horribly long minutes of cleaning and preparing the coffee maker, and waiting for the liquid gold to brew. This place needed a damn single-cup coffee maker. Those were much faster.

I slunk down the empty corridor, praying to gods I didn't believe in that no one would come into the hall and see me in my shorts. I was going to have to start wearing pants to bed, which I hated because they always got too hot. I was really starting to miss my apartment.

Thankfully, I made it to the "bedroom" door without running into anyone, but I found that I'd made the small oversight of not being able to turn the knob, what with the hot coffee and all. It would probably be a good idea to knock first anyway in case Steve was undressed, but I couldn't do that, either. And I sure as hell wasn't going to yell through, or kick, the door. It looked like there was only one solution. I glanced around to make sure that I was still alone, and finding that I was, slid a thin ribbon around the mug in my right hand, letting it suspend in the air as I tapped my knuckles against the door. I swallowed the incoming squeak of contentment by turning my face upward. I didn't usually allow myself the lazy indulgence of using my powers, so this was a delightful change.

"Room service," I muttered to the top of the door.

I grabbed the cup from the air, and half a second later, the door swung open. Steve stood there, still in his pajamas, his hair looking much messier than it had when I'd left him. It looked like he'd raked his hands through it several times, making the blond strands go every which way in a sexy look that made me seriously question why I'd stopped kissing him earlier. I just hoped that he'd given himself this new hairstyle out of the sexual frustration I'd given him and out of not worry over Barnes' future. Although, the first instance wasn't exactly a picnic, either.

"Thank you," I said as he moved aside to let me in.

I handed him his steaming coffee as I passed by. He closed the door behind me as I walked further into the room. I saw that he'd made the beds, with both looking like they could be makeshift trampolines, the sheets were so tight. Just goes to show that you can leave the Army, but the Army doesn't leave you.

"Thank you," he said in return.

I turned to face him, to watch him move back toward his bed, the coffee cup coming up to his lips so he could take that first glorious swig of heaven. I hoped I'd made it the way he liked it, as I hadn't thought to ask him how he took his coffee. That's what being flustered does to you, I guess. He swallowed and looked at me, pursing his lips together to suck off the remnants of coffee that lingered there.

"I don't remember room service wearing an outfit like that," he smirked.

Wait, how did he hear that? He couldn't have heard that without having super hearing, which he did not have. I think. Hmn. Maybe we'd just had the same thought about room service? Yeah. Let's go with that.

"Eh, people put up too much of a fuss," I replied. I lifted my own mug up and added, "I see you have your shirt on this time."

His smirk turned into a grin.

"I thought it might still count as teasing," he explained.

"Oh, it does," I said, raising my eyebrows.

"Then I'm glad I kept my shirt on," he said.

"Honestly, I'm on the fence," I joked. "But don't get any ideas."

"Nn, too late," he said, his grin turning a touch mischievous.

Oh, what delicious hell had I wrought on myself? What beast had I awoken? It seemed like a piece of his sexual innocence fell away with every kiss, that he was getting bolder with every one of my teasing remarks. Before long, he would have me on the floor every day, doing my own pushups so I didn't do him. I was always a bad influence, but now it was really screwing me over.

"Cool," I muttered, dryly, pursing my lips.

Steve let out a laugh, apparently finding my softly spoken sarcasm to be hilarious, and moved toward the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his mug in his hands. I stayed where I was, opting to stand for a bit longer while the coffee kicked in so I didn't curl back up and go to sleep. Speaking of coffee, I took another sip as I watched his smile dim to a gentle upturn of lips against the edge of his mug.

"I have a confession," he said, glancing down as he set his cup on his thigh.

"What did you blow up?" I asked with faux-exasperation.

"That's not important," he joked, dismissively.

I giggled, actually giggled like a goddamn schoolgirl, as he turned his gaze back to me. It seemed like there was a new light in him at my laugh, and it made my stomach flip somersaults to see it. I lifted my cup to my lips, hoping coffee would calm down my twisting insides. It didn't.

"Okay. Confess away," I said.

"I looked up Ron Jeremy," he said, apologetically.

"No! Steve!" I said, in a reprimanding tone. My pique fell flat due to the fact that I was trying to not smile. So, I switched tactics, looking almost worried as I leveled my gaze on him. "Do you need brain bleach?"

"Yes," he laughed.

"I told you. A hairy, greasy potato with a perv mustache," I said.

I shivered in disgust, pulling another chuckle out of Steve. The coffee had woken me up to the point that I didn't think I would fall asleep if I sat down, so I moved toward the bed, sitting fair enough away from Steve that he would have to lean quite a bit to kiss me. I didn't want a repeat of earlier. Well, I did, but that was the problem. Maybe if I put some distance between us, it would remove temptation. Eh, probably not, but I could try, dammit.

"You didn't tell me about the mustache," he said.

"I was trying to spare you the gory details. There are very few men who can wear a mustache and not look like they have a cage in their basement," I joked.

"Do you think he has a cage in his basement?" he asked.

"If he doesn't, he's building one," I said.

I took another sip of my coffee as Steve let out another one of those chuckles that sounded like audible sunshine. He shook his head slightly before he took a drink from his coffee.

"So, are you going to listen to me now?" I asked, sassily.

He swallowed quickly, his lips smacking ever so slightly as he sucked on his teeth and opened his mouth to respond.

"On some things," he said. "But I've learned my lesson."

I looked at the ceiling, closing my eyes in pleasure as I sighed "He _is_ smart."

I tilted my head to throw him a joking smile only to find that his eyes were closed in a mix of playfulness and mock annoyance, his smiling lips pursed, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

"Okay," he chuckled.

"I tease because I care," I said, taking another sip of my coffee.

"I figured that out," he said, looking at me.

"Aht. See? Smart," I said.

He shook his head again, another soft chuckle shaking his shoulders. Silence spread between us as his laughter faded and I occupied my mouth with my coffee. The air around us suddenly felt quite different. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't calm either, with an underlying current of energy zipping through the spaces between atoms. It was the feel of a lecture room at a science conference, where everyone was serious and deep in thought. I glanced over at Steve. His face had changed from carefree to pensive, his eyebrows pinched and his eyes sightlessly roving over his hands.

What had happened? What took us from laughing to him looking like he was contemplating his place in the universe? Was it something I'd said? Was he worrying about Barnes? Was he worrying about possibly having to go on the run? I opened my mouth to ask if he was okay, but was cut off by his quick intake of breath.

"I was thinking…," he started.

Oh no. It _was_ something about having to leave, wasn't it? Or maybe he was going to tell me that he wasn't as into me as I was into him. Or he was going to tell me something else horrible that would make me want to swear off people and live in the mountains. I wanted to say something witty to dispel my growing anxiety, but my jaw didn't seem to want to move. So, I just stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to finally drop and crush our budding relationship.

"We haven't been on a date," he finished, looking at me.

Oh, thank the fucking gods and all that has ever been considered holy! That's all it was! I fought to keep my shoulders from sagging with relief, to keep my body from falling back onto the bed with utter joy that he hadn't said something devastating. He'd just said something very, very confusing. I looked at him dubiously, trying to look deeper into that handsome face with its gentle smile and soft eyes.

"Yes, we have. We've been on several," I said.

"Sitting on your grandparents' couch while you pretend to not like me isn't a date," he pointed out.

"In some cultures, it might be. You don't know. And what about last night? We had dinner, a good conversation, we cuddled during a movie, _and_ we made out, all after I admitted I like you. That's a date," I argued.

"That doesn't count," he said. "I didn't ask you out."

"Since when was that a rule?!" I asked, straightening my spine for maximum humored disbelief. "That has never been a rule."

"It's my rule. I use it in my court all the time," he said into his mug.

"No. No," I said, pointing a finger at him. "You can't make rules if you're a judge. You can't be part of both the judicial _and_ legislative branches. There are checks and balances, dude."

"You know I don't always do what the government says," he countered.

"Yeah, but on, like… missions and stuff."

"It's my mission to take you on a date," he quickly replied.

Okay, that was good. My jaw dropped in fake affront and partially real shock, making his barely there smile turn into a grin.

"Oooh, you think you're so smooth, don't you? Well, I got news for you, buddy. You are," I said.

That caught him off-guard. A laugh suddenly burst from his lips, leaning him back a bit with the force of it. My own shoulders shook with mirth, my humor growing from the infectious nature of his smiling face. He turned to me, his eyes still sparkling, his lungs trying to catch quick breaths.

"I try," he managed.

"You succeed," I said. My own grin faded, dimming down to a warm, excited smile. "Okay. Ask me."

He sucked in a breath, regaining his composure as air filled his lungs, and as he seemingly prepared himself to speak the typically nerve-wracking words.

"Will you go on a date with me?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, gently. Then, with a touch more zeal, I added, "Mission accomplished."

"The mission's not over until we go on the date," Steve said.

He'd lit up again, becoming a human ray of sunshine. He knew I liked him and that I wanted to move forward with our relationship, but it seemed like the old-fashioned part of him couldn't acknowledge that without some of the classic dating mainstays. It made everything a bit more tangible to him. It was cute.

"Okay," I acquiesced. "Objective completed. What are we going to do?"

"It's a surprise," he replied.

Oh, I had difficulty with surprises. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion and apprehension, looking at him over the lip of my mug as I drained the last of my coffee. It didn't put even a hint of a damper on his happiness. In fact, he grinned.

"A good surprise," he insisted.

"Okay," I said, returning his smile. It was difficult to keep up my distaste for surprises when he looked so happy at the thought of springing one on me. "I trust you."

"I know you do," he said. "I promise not to abuse that power."

"You'd better not. There'd be consequences," I said.

"Like what?" he asked, his tone becoming playfully challenging.

"Like…" I paused, trying to come up with a good enough punishment that wasn't based solely on sex. Funny how difficult that was. "No more coffee."

Steve's eyes widened in faux horror, but his mouth was desperately trying to not smile. I, in the meantime, was giving him a wicked smile.

"That's playing dirty," he said.

"That's the best way to play," I quipped. "Besides, that's tame compared to the other stuff I could do."

"What else could you do?" he asked, frowning a bit.

Though he sounded genuinely curious, there was a hint of suggestiveness in his tone. Him leaning toward me a bit, subtly narrowing the gap I'd put between us, also helped me figure out that he wasn't just asking a simple question. I knew it was a bad idea to stoke the flames of this fire, but I couldn't help myself. So, I followed his lead, leaning in just a bit, and lowering my voice until it was just above a whisper.

"I am so not telling you," I said.

His eyes changed, and all of his curiosity was gone. Realization dawned in those beautiful blue depths, overlaid with a healthy dose of lust. His body language changed, his jaw clenching as the rest of him went impossibly still, his gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes in indecision. I may have pushed it a touch too far. Oops. Now I had to fix this without it devolving into another make-out session.

Before he could do or say anything, I slapped the bed under me and pushed myself up. With a couple of steps, I placed myself in front of him, just out of arm's reach. Well, not if he leaned forward and grabbed my waist to pull me… Nope! We were ignoring that thought. Ugh. I was going to need a cold shower after this. And so was he, probably.

"Well, I hate to break this up, but I need to go do research until my eyes bleed," I said.

Steve's eyes widened a bit at that, and, thankfully, some of the lust fell away. After all, it was difficult to be horny when someone was using gory horror tropes to describe staring at a computer screen.

"Stop before you get to that point, please. I like your eyes as they are: green and unbloodied," he said, managing a small smile. A little more of that fervor fell away.

"That's because you don't know how to have fun," I joked.

"Bleeding eyes don't sound like fun to me," he said.

"And that proves my point," I said. I motioned toward the mug in his lap and asked, "Are you done?"

"Yeah," he said, quickly glancing down. "I can take them down to the kitchen."

"No. You did that yesterday. It's my turn. Give," I ordered.

I held out my hand, wiggling my fingers at him until he handed me the mug, careful to not touch my fingers. Yeah, he was going to need a cold shower, too, if he was so worked up that he didn't even want to touch my hand. He gave me a quick, appreciative smile that managed to wipe away, or at least push down, most his remaining desire.

"Thank you," he said as I took a couple of steps backward toward the door. Moving to stand, he planted his hands on the bed on either side of his hips, and added, "I'll get the door for you."

"Thank you, but it's not necessary," I replied. "I'm already halfway there. You get ready for the day. How do you do that, by the way? Beat up bears?"

Yes. Go for the humor. That will distract him. Hopefully.

"Yes," he said, without missing a beat. "Black bears, actually. At least two a morning."

"Fucking knew it," I chuckled. "Nobody's that good at fighting without punching a couple of bears first."

"Well, I think I get a little bit of help from the spirit of Teddy Roosevelt," he joked.

"That makes so much sense. No wonder you can take a bullet so well."

That got another chuckle out of him. While he laughed, I spared a quick glance over my shoulder to wrap a tendril of power around the doorknob. With a flex of my mind, it swung open, the empty hall beyond not looking nearly as inviting as my vacated spot next to Steve. Man, I really wanted to sit back down next to him and pull him on the bed with me. Hell, I would be happy even if we didn't even touch each other and just ended up talking for a few hours. Alas, we couldn't.

"Go punch bears or whatever, and give the Bull Moose my best," I quipped as I reluctantly stepped into the hall. "I'll see you later."


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

My eyes were burning like the fires of hell had set up shop in my retinas. I didn't know how long I'd been here, staring at my computer screen as if I were waiting for it to do a flip or something equally impressive. I just knew that I'd gotten halfway through a very long rock music playlist that was meant to keep me awake on road trips. Eh, at least I knew that the music did its job. If it hadn't been on, I would have been face down on the desk by now.

Instead, I was sitting upright, scrolling through an article on post-traumatic stress disorder while Nightwish's "While Your Lips Are Still Red" played in the background. It's not a song most would associate with staying awake, but the entire piece was so beautiful that I always had to hear it all the way through, no matter how tired I was. And really, it helped the paper I was reading not be so damn depressing. Holy shit, people with PTSD had it fucking rough!

I rubbed my eyes with my fingers, wishing I had my computer glasses with me. I always used them when I had to sit at a computer for hours on end, like when I was writing, but they were back in my apartment, next to my laptop, which was now probably covered in dust. It was looking like I was going to need a pair for the office now, since I was officially cut off from field work for the foreseeable future. I loved that being put on this case meant that I'd been able to meet Steve, but the rest of it made me want to pull my hair out.

Instead of scalping myself, I scrolled down the page that was covered in psychological jargon and statistics, half-listening to the song that echoed throughout the empty office space. My brain was awash in piano parts and symptoms of a special kind of hell, so much so that I didn't hear Steve coming up behind me.

"Hey," he said.

I perked up from my half-reclined position, turning to the left to see Steve walking towards my little workspace. He was in a blue-green button-down flannel and jeans today, looking breathtakingly handsome as always. And, as usual, he looked like there was a hint of unease just under the surface. I guess that's what constant stress does to a person.

"Hey," I said. I opened my mouth again to ask him what was going on with him, but he quickly cut me off.

"Do you know how to play that?" he asked.

Well, that wasn't quite what I'd expected him to ask. Maybe "how's the research going" or "how close are your eyes to bleeding," but not that out-of-the-blue question. My already overloaded brain struggled to figure out why he was asking me that as he grabbed the empty rolling chair from the desk next to mine and sat down. Also, why was he asking that over everything else? He had to be worried about Barnes, so why not ask what I'd found first? Was he deflecting the conversation from his issues? Probably. He'd been hanging out with me too much.

"What?" I asked, confused. The violins crescendoed through the speakers of the computer, bringing my attention back to them. Oh. I grabbed my MP3 player, which was plugged into a USB port, and turned it off while amending, "Yeah. How did you know?"

"Your hand was moving like you were playing the piano," he said, motioning toward my left hand.

"Ah. Well, the thing has a mind of its own," I said.

"It seems to know good music, then. That's a nice song. I didn't think you listened to anything that didn't have ear-splitting guitars," he joked.

"Of course, I do. I'm not a one trick music pony. I even listen to Broadway. But if I ever listen to mainstream rap music, shoot me because something is terribly wrong." I said.

He shook his head at that, making it a simultaneous no to my request and a motion of disbelief. How rude of him to leave me potentially tortured in a hypothetical situation.

"Do you take requests?" he inquired.

"For what?" I asked.

I was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn't talking about a request to play something from my music collection. Half of it would make him cringe, and he knew it. Metal and hard rock wasn't for everyone.

"For piano performances," he replied with a smile. "You know that song, and I would like to hear you play it."

Oh. Well, that explained it. And that was rather sweet, even if the thought of playing something for one person made my heart try to escape my chest. Put me in front of a crowd and I'd be fine; put me in front of a single person and I was a ball of anxiety. For him, though, I would at least attempt to overcome my completely illogical fear.

"Yes," I said, returning his smile. "For you, I will take any request you have. I just need a piano."

"Any request except for rap, right?" he asked.

"Yes," I chuckled. "Or country. If it's not Johnny Cash, it's off the table."

"I will keep that in mind," he said.

His eyes settled on me, their color beautiful and sparkling beyond long lashes. I didn't think I'd ever get tired of looking into his eyes and seeing all of the things he was thinking and feeling. They were so honest. I felt incredibly lucky to say that the happiness and warmth in those blue depths were at least partially because of what he was feeling for me. Sappy as it was, it was true. It was also so sweet that the mere thought of it all made me feel like my teeth were decaying. I needed to break up this confectioner's party before I needed dentures.

"Well," I said, tearing my eyes away from his to nod at the computer screen, "you will be happy to know that you saved me from eye-bleeding. I was about ten minutes away from looking like a movie monster."

When I looked back at him, he seemed a tad disappointed, like he'd been enjoying just sitting there, staring into my eyes. Yeah, I was disappointed in me, too, but I really sucked when it came to touchy-feely shit. I was better at goofy-lusty. How do you relationship, again? Still, disappointed as he may have been, he brightened his smile and rolled his chair over so he was flush against my seat, giving him a much better view of the computer and putting him well within reach of my hands.

"I'm glad I could help, but I don't think you could ever look like a movie monster," he said. Motioning toward the screen, he added, "What did you find?"

"A lot," I replied.

I grabbed the mouse, which I'd abandoned at some point without realizing it, and clicked out of the PTSD paper I'd found to click on a document stuffed with complied research. Steve's arm went behind me to rest on the back of my chair, stabilizing him as he leaned forward to get a better look at the copious amounts of information. He was so close to touching me that I could feel the heat from his arm. I wanted to lean back and let his touch wash away both of our anxieties, but I was probably going to need to scroll at some point. I needed a wireless mouse if this was going to be a thing.

"Dani, there are over 2,000 pages here," he said, his voice suddenly filled with awe.

"Damn. I was hoping I had more," I muttered.

He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes wide with wonder and a hint of worry. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"When was the last time we talked?" I asked.

He frowned at that. "Six hours ago."

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him, pursing my lips. "That long. With a break for food, because I'm not an idiot."

Looking even more concerned, he leaned back so he didn't have to break his neck to look at me. There was still a tangible amount of wonder in his eyes, as if he couldn't quite believe that I'd spent so long looking for research papers when I'd already voiced my disdain for desk work.

"Why are you putting so much effort into this? You don't know Bucky. You're under no obligation to help him in any way, but you're going above and beyond what you were asked to do by me and Fury. Why?" he asked.

"You, mostly," I replied, honestly, even if it was incredibly strange to say out loud. "He's basically your brother. Also, he seems like a good guy and I want to defend him if possible, but ultimately because this is stuff you need to read so you can help him. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd go to therapy, so it's up to you and any other friends of his to know what's going on with him so you can be a better support system."

I leaned forward before he could say anything and clicked back to the PTSD page, scrolling to the list of symptoms.

"Read that and tell me if he has any of those," I said.

Steve's eyes flicked to the computer, to me, and back to the computer screen before he leaned in and started reading. I watched him as his eyes skimmed over the list and saw the exact moment that realization hit him.

"He has some of these," he replied, leaning back again.

"And you didn't really realize it until now, right?" I asked.

"I did, but I didn't understand the scope of it, or that it was that much of a problem," he said.

"But now you do. Now you know what to look for and can find out ways to help him when these symptoms present themselves."

"So, you think he has post-traumatic stress disorder?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"I'm not a doctor, so I can't say for sure, but I don't think that necessarily matters. Diagnosis or not, he has certain symptoms that you can help him with. And the more you know about them, the more you can do. You can't be his gold if you don't know where he's broken. I going to e-mail all of that to you, by the way. I would suggest getting computer glasses before you dive in."

"You sent all 2,000 pages?" he asked.

"More like 900. The rest is stuff on sociopathy, psychopathy, and the subconscious that I might use to ask questions during the psych briefing. And he can't be sociopathic or psychopathic if he's presenting signs of mental trauma," I replied.

"I sound like a broken record at this point, but thank you. This information will really help in getting him back on his feet. The fact that you're even doing this is incredible. You're incredible," he said, sounding both relieved and grateful.

"No, I'm not," I said, shaking my head a little. "I'm just bored."

His head cocked just a tiny bit to the left, his eyes narrowing a touch before a smirk crinkled their edges.

"You're not good at taking compliments, are you?" he asked.

"Nope," I replied, moving to swivel in my chair.

Steve's arm, which was still firmly planted behind me, stopped the chair from moving even an inch. Then, I felt the weight behind me shift, and his fingers slid over my right shoulder blade. I sucked in a deep breath to steady my mind and body as the tingles washed over my skin, the wave of electricity and calm as delicious as always. His palm touched my back, and he gently rubbed his hand back and forth over my dark blue t-shirt. He leaned toward me, not seeming to care about the arm rests between us.

"You're going you have to get used to them," he said, with a tender smile.

"Never," I grinned.

The smile he gave me in return was so pure and, let's face it, loving, that it made my heart melt. No man that I had ever dated had ever managed to do that. That probably would have freaked me out if he hadn't been touching me, but his touch always forced me to be honest with myself, and I had a feeling that we would have wound up here, in the land of melted hearts and butterflies, no matter what. We were good for each other. And despite my unending battle with romance and feelings, I knew it.

I felt his hand gently press on my back, urging me forward to meet his lips. I gladly followed the encouragement of his fingers, letting him push all of the thoughts from our minds for one glorious second as he kissed me. He was the one who broke away this time, knowing from experience how quickly we could evolve from sweet to sultry.

"You'll come around eventually," he said as he leaned back a few inches.

"Don't underestimate me," I joked.

"I would never be that stupid," he said.

"No, you wouldn't. The word 'stupid' could ever apply to you," I said.

"I think you're overestimating me," he said.

"Now who can't take a compliment?" I replied, sassily.

"I must've learned it through osmosis," he said, drawing his fingers across my shoulder for emphasis.

"Shut up," I laughed, tapping the back of my left hand against his chest.

He caught my fingers before I could pull away and brought the back of my hand a hairsbreadth away from his lips.

"Couldn't think of a good comeback, huh?" he asked, his breath drifting over my skin.

Goosebumps rippled up my arm as he touched my hand to his lips, and I got the distinct feeling that he was playing dirty. Yeesh, when I said it was the best way to play, I didn't think the straitlaced Steve would implement it into how he did things. Silly me. Man, if anything, I was underestimating him, because he just kept surprising me.

"I could, but I didn't want to embarrass you," I replied.

He lowered my hand again, but he didn't let go. Instead, he pressed my hand against his chest again, right over his heart so I could feel every beat.

"Is that the story you're sticking with?" he asked, cheekily.

"It's the truth," I insisted, though I sent my eyes wandering around the room guiltily, before grinning at him.

He rewarded my weirdness with a laugh. It was good to know that he embraced and encouraged my strangeness, from my odd sense of humor to my unending geekery, and even got so much of a kick out of it that he would join in. Then again, you had to be a bit weird to even be friends with me, much less want to date me. Maybe he'd just never been able to express himself like this before, seeing as how his past and his job had never allowed him to let his freak flag unfurl. I guess we would see. I saw a thought suddenly flash behind his eyes, and was again pulled away from my thoughts.

"Bucky says hi, by the way," he said.

"Oh, that's sweet. I'll have to go see him. How's he doing?" I replied.

"He's starting to get restless. He's stuck in there all day with nothing but his thoughts and some music. It doesn't help that he's steps away from freedom and hours away from having his name cleared. It's starting to wear on him a little. He thinks the government is intentionally stalling as a form of punishment," he said.

"And what do you think?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't think they'd intentionally waste time when it came to evaluating someone they've been hunting for years, but they've done stranger things. Worse things. I told him that they had people they had to call and that they might have to fly in psychologists, but he's not so sure," he explained.

He wasn't looking at me anymore. Instead, he was staring off into the middle-distance, his eyes locked on the keyboard on my desk as he thought about his words and everything they meant. His thumb was caressing the back of my hand, skimming over the knuckles, anchoring himself with my skin. I lightly stroked my thumb over his finger, trying my best to silently soothe the worry that lay beyond the fog.

"I think you're right," I said. "They might be flying in someone from London, for all we know. This stuff has to take a little more time, otherwise everything will definitely go to hell. And, the longer they take, the more time we have to prepare for whatever might happen."

The thoughtful glaze over Steve's eyes broke and he looked at me. I could see him struggling to force suspicion into his eyes, and he managed to do quite a good job of it.

"You don't just mean research," he said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"No, I don't, but we'll cross that bridge if we get to it," I replied. "And if we give Barnes a good enough defense and a good enough chance, we'll never get to that bridge."

"Defense?" he asked. "I don't think they're giving him a lawyer."

Yeah, they tended to forget about the Bill of Rights when it came to alleged terrorists. No one can be mad at you for unconstitutional action if only a few loyal people know about it, right?

"They gave him an arguing Dani, and that's enough. I know stuff about things, and if I don't, I look it up," I replied.

A shadow of a smile touched his lips as he nodded at the computer. "Case in point."

"Exactly. Barnes will be out of here in no time. If he can hold out for a couple more days, he'll be free as a bird and able to do whatever he wants."

"Maybe I'll take him to a baseball game," Steve said, thoughtfully. "We haven't been to one in a few decades."

"I'm certain that that would be a welcome change from all the crap he's been through. He can start a new life, beginning with a Yankees game."

"I like that you know I'm a Yankees fan," Steve grinned.

"You're from New York. If you weren't a Yankees fan, you'd be kicked out of the state," I said, dismissively.

"That's true," he chuckled.

Suddenly, another thought popped into his head and he leaned forward, his eyes on the computer screen. I stared at him, utterly confused by this rapid shift in conversation. I mean, it happened all the time with us, and with any conversation really, but these changes were usually brought about with words rather than motions.

"It's getting late," he said. "If we want to talk to Zeus today, we need to go now."

Ah. That explained it.

"Alright. You get the car and I'll finish up here," I said, pulling my hand from his.

I leaned toward the computer to grab the mouse. Steve's hand on my back fell away and every emotion his touch had masked came to the forefront of my mind. Man, that serenity could easily become addicting. But then we'd be one of those annoying couples that was always touching and kissing, becoming so uncomfortably codependent that we couldn't be away from each other for long periods of time, and everything would go to hell. Or maybe I was just being exceedingly anxious as always, and we'd just end up being a semi-normal couple who happened to punch people together. Steve, gloriously oblivious to my inner bullshit, broke through the swirl of thoughts with his soothing baritone.

"We're staying on base," he said.

"No bueno. People can spy on our conversation," I said as I saved the PTSD paper to my exorbitant amount of research. With a couple of clicks, I e-mailed the updated document to Steve and closed all of my tabs.

"There are a handful of people here," Steve argued.

"Yeah, and all of them can spy on us. It's what they're trained to do. Besides, they'll immediately report a god coming onto the premises," I countered as I shut down the computer.

"They'll immediately report seeing the Bifrost, too, which they will see no matter where we are," he replied.

Okay, that made sense. Dammit, I hated it when he was right! Most of the time. Eh, at least he kept me in check.

"Goddammit, I hate it when you're right," I muttered, shoving my chair away from my desk.

Steve was already on his feet and waiting for me to join him. The computer screen went black, and I stood, only to be greeted by Steve's hand as he touched the small of my back. The tingles shot through me again, forcing a little sigh from my lips.

"No, you don't," he said, confidently.

There was something in his tone, something other than surety, that made me feel like he was teasing me. It wasn't your typical "haha, you like me" kind of teasing; it was more "haha, you like me even when I'm annoyingly right and you can't effectively argue about that when I'm touching you." Basically, he was using our connection to mess with me. Tricky fucker.

"You're playing dirty," I accused, moving forward when his fingers gently pressed against me.

"We both know where you stand on that," he teased.

Ugh. Yep, I hated it when he was right.


	50. Chapter 50

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey guys! Sorry about the delays between chapters. Writer's block has been hitting me hard lately due to some life stresses, but I was finally able to bang out the big five-o! I'm starting to figure out where exactly I want to take this story, and I have a lot of ideas swirling around in my brainpan. And I'm going to be honest with you guys and say that I don't currently see an end in sight for this story. This has become my passion project and a way to keep myself sane through all of the stuff I have going on. The fact that y'all love it and send me so many beautiful words of encouragement and joy only serves to make me more passionate about writing it. Reading your reviews never fails to jumpstart the ideas and it's because of you that I've been able to get out of some particularly nasty bouts of writer's block. Your support is truly incredible and wonderful, and I cannot thank you guys enough for loving my story, let alone reading it. I hope you continue to read and enjoy the shenanigans of Dani and Steve. Here's to the next fifty chapters! Now, on to the story!

Chapter 50

Steve stood at the edge of the tree line, the breeze shifting his gently spiked hair, his body a pillar of blue against the rich greens and browns that surrounded him. I wanted to stand there and stare at him for hours, memorizing every little detail of his body, but my eyes kept turning to the base. The big, grey building was far away now, on the other side of a long field that could easily fit five of our jets, yet I kept getting the feeling that we were being watched. We weren't. I knew that. Like Steve had said, there were maybe a handful of people here, and I hadn't seen any of them as we'd made our way to the most secluded spot on base. Besides, it would take a pair of binoculars and an obvious position out in the open to even tell who we were. And still anxiety tugged at my mind.

What would it look like, if someone had seen us coming out here for no discernable reason? What rumors would that start? Would I be pulled from the case? Would my career go down the toilet? Would Steve be reprimanded or harassed for getting involved with me? Would I be reprimanded or harassed for getting involved with Steve? All of the familiar questions flooded my mind, making me hate myself for even having them at all. Steve was an amazing man, but I wanted whatever we had to stay a secret. I wanted him to be my secret. I knew I was doing it out of fear, worrying that the baddies would use us against each other and that our superiors would punish us professionally, but it also felt like I was ashamed. I wasn't, but it sure as hell seemed that way. Gods, he could do so much better than me. Why did he like me, again? Oh. Right. Zeus. Probably.

Maybe I could get Zeus to reverse whatever this was, if this soulmate thing really was his doing. Then Steve could go off and find someone that wasn't such a giant pain in the ass. I mean, what was really the point of me wanting to contact Zeus, anyway, if not to ask him to put a stop to whatever was going on? I was always inquisitive, always the person asking why, but asking a god to stop everything just to answer the questions of mortals was extreme even by my standards. Had I just been lying to myself about being okay with the budding relationship? No. No, I was simply apprehensive and didn't want to make Steve deal with my myriad of issues. So many issues. Maybe I could just ask about reversing it in passing, make it seem like a nonchalant inquiry into the way whatever this was worked. Only that more than likely wouldn't fool Steve and I'd end up hurting him yet again. Oooh, the urge to bang my head against a tree trunk was getting overwhelming.

Suppressing a groan of emotional agony, I pushed the black hair away from my face and turned back to Steve. He seemed to be lost in his own head, his eyes looking toward the clouds, mirroring the blue of the sky. His chest rose in a deep breath, as if he were coming out of a trance, and he looked at me. A nervous, yet happy smile touched his lips. Why did I feel the need to ruin this, again? Because I was an idiot? Yeah, that sounded about right.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked, folding my arms across my stomach.

He hooked his thumbs into his pockets as he turned to me. "We try to talk to Heimdall. If he hears us, he'll get Thor. And then we wait."

Okay, this was sounding more convoluted than I wanted it to be. I remembered Steve telling me that Thor had to approach this with grace, too, and that the political diplomacy might take time. We could very well be waiting out here for hours. Was this really worth it?

"Okay. How long do you thi-"

The words were ripped from my mouth as a bright flash of light exploded between us, crackling like lightning as it flung us both backwards. I managed to find my footing before my ass hit the ground and scrambled to stand up. It took me a second to realize that my gun was in my hand, my thumb clicking the safety off as I pointed it toward the column of light. I tried to search for Steve, but the blinding white sparks were the only thing that filled my vision. Panic stabbed at my heart. I had to find him and make sure he was okay. I would be a shitty bodyguard if I didn't, and I would be an even worse potential girlfriend. I opened my mouth to call for him, only to again be interrupted again as the lightning disappeared.

I blinked rapidly, trying to remove the flash of light that had imprinted itself on my eyes, and sighted down the barrel of my gun. Standing there in the center of a circle of scorched earth was a man dressed in a light tunic, his chest covered in silver armor, and a green cape flowing down to his sandaled ankles. He was tall, at least six foot seven and heavily muscled, with copper red hair and beard, and intense blue eyes. The entrance via lightning was enough to tell me that I was staring at the king of the Olympians himself. Just beyond him stood Steve, who was slowly moving out of a fighting stance as he realized that the big man himself had appeared at our feet.

I slowly lowered my gun and took a step to the left, putting myself in Zeus' line of sight while moving toward Steve. My eyes flicked toward him, making sure that he hadn't been singed by the lightning. He hadn't been, and as he moved closer to me, I could tell that he wasn't hurt at all. Good. I guess Zeus had a damn good handle on his lightning teleportation device, seeing as how Steve and I hadn't gotten so much as a static shock.

"Zeus?" I asked, my tone requesting confirmation.

Those intense eyes turned towards me and, to my surprise, crinkled in a polite smile as the bearded giant gave a single nod.

"Yes, girl. I am Zeus," he said.

His voice was deep, with a low rumble that had the potential to become either soothing or utterly terrifying.

"Dani. Please," I said. I put my gun back in the holster at my right hip and nodded toward my blond companion, adding, "That's Steve."

"I know who you are," Zeus stated.

Without missing a beat, Steve asked, "How?"

Zeus turned to him and said, "I see what is to come, and have heard you speak each other's names."

"Is that how you knew to come here, now?" Steve asked.

"Yes," was the simple response.

"Not that we're not glad that you decided to meet us," I said, tentatively, "but why did you decide to meet us?"

Zeus settled upon me again, his eyes boring into me as if he were trying to break me down to my very atoms. It was a gaze so heavy that it would make most people stoop a little lower, make them become more submissive to the power that stood before them. It just made me want to lift my chin in defiance and tell him I hated macho bullshit. I didn't do that, because I'm not stupid, but I certainly didn't cower at his feet. Besides, I didn't think he meant to be intimidating. His smile when I first said his name told me that. He was a king, and he was probably so used to his power and throne being challenged that it was second nature for him to look like he was ready to flay someone alive. I know that alone would make me rethink trying to dethrone him.

"You, Dani," Zeus replied, breaking me from my thoughts. "Despite your doubts, you would have not given up on your quest to speak with me. Allowing you to ask questions of me now will save me from having a thorn in my side."

Oh. Yeah, that sounded like me. I pursed my lips, giving a single nod toward the ground before lifting my eyes back toward Zeus' far away face.

"Say no more," I said. "Well, you're a busy god and we don't want to keep you, so let's cut to the chase. What is going on between me and Steve?"

"It is a centuries old spell of my doing," Zeus replied succinctly.

It was official. It wasn't a miracle that Steve liked me; it was a spell. Which was close enough to a miracle, in my opinion.

"What exactly is the spell, and why did you cast it?" Steve asked.

"The answer to that question lies in centuries long passed," Zeus said. He shifted his feet, planting them more firmly into the ground as if he were settling in for a long tale. "Thousands of years ago, I was born amongst the humans, and was raised by them. As I grew, I saw that they were small-minded, self-destructive, and self-important. The governments were corrupt, overindulging in riches and food while their citizens starved and wanted for a spare coin. They waged wars out of greed, wanting to expand their land for power's sake. I came to hate them, and when I looked into their future I saw nothing but war and destruction. It marred the earth with fire and blood, and destroyed the lives and habitats of the innocent creatures that I believed mattered much more. I can admit now that my young age, anger, naivety, and even my lust for revenge on my own father colored my vision red. And so, with that anger in my heart, I designed a spell that was meant to wipe the humans from the earth in a torturous fashion. Physical pain, I thought, would allow for too quick a death, and would not allow humanity to realize the error of their ways. I found that emotional pain always allowed for reflection, and so made that my punishment. I again cite my naivety in thinking that humanity would come to the same conclusion about themselves that I had, as I now realize that they could never have possibly guessed the reason for their newfound plight. The punishment I devised was this: I would curse humanity to sadness. Humanity would know how love felt, but no one would receive it. No one would feel the love of a husband or a wife. As such, they would lack the resolve to attempt relationships or procreation, sorrow would break their souls, and the race would die out in a mere century."

And that was when Zeus lost me to outrage. I mean, I got it. Humans were one of the most destructive forces on the planet and we could be real assholes sometimes. Hell, a lot of humans would probably agree with his views on exactly how much we sucked and in what ways. But dooming them to emotional torment in order to wipe them out? That was just as bad as anything that humanity had done. That was actually worse than some of the shit we'd done, and Zeus had the audacity to say that we were the bad ones in this equation? There was a reason that depression was so debilitating and drove people to suicide, and he'd nonchalantly cursed the entire human race to it! The tongue-lashing I wanted to give him over this grave injustice would make a lawyer hide under their desk. Instead, I bit my tongue, wiped all of the emotion from my face so I didn't piss Zeus off, and looked over at Steve to see if he shared my horror and indignation.

His expression told me he did. His eyebrows had pinched over slightly narrowed eyes, and he'd clenched his jaw and drawn his lips in, thinning them against his teeth. It looked like he wanted to say something, too. But as I watched, something passed through his mind, some thought that made him let go of some of his anger, and his face softened. I wished he'd share his happy thought, because I could use one right about now. I turned back to Zeus, who hadn't seemed to notice, or care about, our reactions, and was still telling his tale.

"I created the spell quickly, and in doing so, made many mistakes," he continued. "I thought it would be best to turn my creation into a mist that I would release as I walked among humans for the last time before they turned to dust. I wanted to see their faces as my vengeance took hold. But I overestimated my power and my spell. It worked well enough to reach those in the streets, and some in their homes, but it could not reach those that did not walk the city streets. When I thought my work was done, I left Earth behind me and set off on my next quest for vengeance. Two centuries later, I turned my eyes back toward earth, and found that my plan had failed, and it had done so in spectacular fashion.

"The humans were still alive. They were marrying and breeding, not out of love, but out of duty. All were despondent, even those I had not been able to curse as they witnessed first-hand what my revenge had wrought. But to my great surprise, many pushed forward in a show of resilience that I had never seen before. They were stronger and kinder than I had thought them, though they were doomed to suffer. Despite this, without love and happiness, they sought out other means to fulfill themselves. While some turned to art, sports, music, and dance, others turned even further to lust, riches, food, and blood. I had not aided in their demise; I had made them more destructive. The beauty that had been created from their tortured conditions was also destroyed because of that suffering. The wars that I had been trying to prevent had come to pass, and I knew that they had occurred because of my actions. My visions were not warnings of humanity's failing, but of mine. I realized then that I had made a grave mistake. Humans could do great things if they weren't impeded by sorrow and rage, and I found myself wanting them to thrive and create more wonderful things that the universe would otherwise never see. I wanted the creatures of the earth to live in peace, and that could not happen if the humans continued to live in agony. I knew I had to fix it, but I could not reverse the spell I'd created. One of the ingredients had since gone extinct, so I had to come up with something new."

Well, there went my question of getting rid of this thing. Steve would be happy about that.

"The next spell was one that would create a balance in those I'd affected, and create true love in those whom I'd missed before. The sad would know contentment and peace, and would be able to live happily with those they picked to spend their lives with. The ones who would have true love, however, would always be able to find the one person who truly completed them, who would be their opposite and their equal, who would calm and impassion with a touch and cause joy with a glance. Destiny would bring them together. To ensure this, I spread my spell through water and wine, placing it in rivers and wells. Everyone has to drink, and when they did, their plight would be fixed. It worked as well as I'd hoped, but again, I could not reach everyone, as some did not drink from the wells, rivers, and wine that I'd blessed, and I had not been able to bless them all. As such, fate would decree that some would never know love, some would know happiness, some would know untold joy, and some would carve their own paths as they had been meant to do from the start."

He stopped, turning his bearded face to settle his eyes first on Steve, then on me, as if he were waiting for our response. You know, aside from the ones we'd already given. The one that Steve was able to brush off because he had quickly figured out that Zeus had realized his own mistake. The one that I'd had for too long because I had been too caught up in thinking that being beaten to death would be kinder than perpetual sorrow.

Wait. Something about the story didn't add up here.

"Hold on a second," I said, confused. "All of that happened centuries ago, so why are we being affected now?"

"The spells were meant to be passed down through blood. When I created the first spell, I wanted it to reach as many people as possible. That meant children as well. A pregnant woman would pass her sadness on to her child, ensuring that all living generations would be affected, and thusly the human race would be easier to extinguish. I did not think that my spell would fail, and so it was passed to every new child. The new spell was meant to do the same. Your ancestors passed it on to their children, and those to their children, and so on until it reached you," he explained, looking between me and Steve again. "If you asked your parents when they knew they would forever be with each other, they would say that it was the first moment they saw each other."

"My mom _did_ say that," Steve said.

"So did my dad," I mumbled. And both sets of grandparents. And my uncle. But one person in my family would never be able to tell me they'd had love at first sight. "What if one of the soulmates dies?"

Steve immediately looked at me, his wide eyes flashing with so many emotions that it made my head hurt to try to name them all. I was getting better at talking about Katie, but he'd usually be touching me so I could keep myself in check. He was worried, and I didn't blame him. I'd ask him to comfort me later, but right now I wanted an answer, so I looked at Zeus and waited for one. Once again, Zeus didn't acknowledge either of our reactions, and instead got right down to business.

"The other's heart will break at true love lost, and will soon follow their partner to Hades," he replied.

"Well, that's both sweet and utterly horrifying," I said. Speaking of horrifying. "Do you ever regret fixing the spell? We're not exactly a basket of roses down here."

Another smile twitched under Zeus' beard, and this time it was mildly amused rather than tactfully polite.

"No," he replied. "I get frustrated with humans sometimes, but then I look at all of the good you have done, and at all of the wonderful things you have created. Every species, every group, will have a handful of individuals who attempt to sully the name of the whole, but the good always outweighs the bad."

I opened my mouth to spout another one of my witticisms, only to have Steve's voice stop me before so much as a syllable could reach my tongue.

"The connection seems to be getting stronger over time," he said. "Why is that?"

Zeus stared at Steve for a moment in silent contemplation. I had the feeling that he was trying to find the right words to answer the question without raising new ones. Five bucks said that he was ready to hightail it back to Olympus where he wasn't being bugged every five seconds. It was also probably pretty difficult to explain spells, anyway.

After a few moments, Zeus replied, "Think of it as an adjustment period. If the spell took complete effect immediately, it could become overwhelming or seem unnatural, causing unnecessary complications of sorts. If you felt for her in the beginning as you do now, would you have reacted as positively, or would you have attempted to step away until your feelings become manageable?"

"I wouldn't have stepped away, but I wouldn't have accepted it as easily as I have," Steve replied, honestly.

Zeus turned to me and asked, "And you?"

"I would have run for the hills," I said.

"You tried doing that anyway," Steve said, a shadow of a smile touching his lips.

"Fine. I would have run for the nearest airport," I amended with a smirk.

"You see, then," Zeus said, "how being exposed to the full brunt of the spell would have affected you both, and how it would have pushed you further apart until it forced you to come together again?"

Steve and I both gave quick nods of agreement. Zeus looked between us, seeming very content with our admissions and our understanding. We were smart people, after all, ones who knew ourselves well enough that we could fully examine our flaws and reactions, and I think Zeus respected that. Or he was just happy that we weren't idiotically denying his explanation. Either way.

Suddenly, he straightened his spine, or somehow made himself seem considerably bigger, and lifted his chin like an expectant king.

"Have you any more questions?" he asked.

"I don't," I said, glancing at Steve.

"Me either," Steve said. "We'll let you get back to Olympus. Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, but I did," Zeus said. "Dani would have been a rather painful thorn for many years if I had not. I do not often meddle in human affairs, but this was one affair that I would never be able to ignore. You're quite the stubborn woman."

"I'd say you have no idea, but you obviously do," I quipped. "Either way, we really appreciate you talking with us."

"You are welcome," Zeus said. "And now, I take my leave. I suggest shielding your eyes."

That was all the warning we had before a bolt of lightning, crackling with constantly moving branches of electricity, formed in his hand, and before I had time to lift my hand to my face, the pillar of bright light had sprung around him. My eyes watered and screwed shut against the assault of white, and even the hand I clapped over them did little to save my retinas. Thankfully, the column disappeared within a matter of moments. The lightbulb that was trapped in my eyeball didn't go away so quickly.

"Couldn't he pick a dimmer method of transportation?" I muttered, blinking hard.

"How else would a man famous for wielding lightning travel?" Steve asked.

Around the sun that had set up shop in my cornea, I could see that he was looking up at the sky again, this time looking less contemplative and more pleased. We had our answers, and that was a good feeling. Well, to a certain extent. Well, to a certain extent for me, anyway. He was probably fine, because he was always fine when he was dealing with our relationship. I was still having some issues, because that was my default setting when it came to romance.

"Gilded chariot pulled by lightning bolts? Personal storm cloud?" I replied, ignoring the niggling feeling in the back of my mind.

"Yeah. I guess that could work," he said, smiling.

He tore his eyes from the sky to look at me, and my knees tried to go weak. He looked so happy, like there was a deep river of contentment coursing through him, bringing him peace with each wave that licked the shore. Talking to Zeus had done something for Steve, had given him a certainty about us that he hadn't had before, and it overjoyed him. He put his hands on his belt and started walking toward me.

"We finally got our answers," he said, barely managing to hold back his elation.

I returned his smile, partly because I loved seeing him so delighted, and partly because I was masking my own typical internal struggle. Why couldn't I just enjoy this for five fucking minutes?

"Yes, we did," I replied, trying to sound as over-the-moon as he did.

Apparently, I was losing my lying touch, because a frown had started pulling at his lips before I'd even finished my sentence.

"Something tells me you're still not okay with this," he said, stopping in few feet in front of me.

"No, it's not…" I started. Dammit. How did I explain this? Fuck it. I was just going to let my mouth handle it. It seemed to like doing that lately, anyway. "I'm ambivalent. I like what we have, but I've never liked the idea of destiny."

"Because you're a control freak," Steve said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Exactly. That's part of the reason why this whole thing freaked me out in the first place. So, being told that destiny is real in some capacity, and is very much affecting my life, makes me little itchy," I explained. Smirking, I added, "Thankfully, this destiny has a really good outcome, so I'm not nearly as itchy as I would normally be."

I playfully reached out to fidget with one of the buttons on his shirt as I said the last. A new smile bloomed on his face as he watched me. I got another glimpse of his pride, that he was immeasurably pleased that I was fighting against my natural inclination to push him away and run. Then, something shifted in his eyes, and his hand was around my wrist, sending those delicious tingles up my arm.

"Just good?" Steve teased.

He gently tugged on my wrist, pulling me in to him. I went willingly, but I put my free hand on his chest to stop him from pulling me flush against his body. I wanted to be able to see his face without breaking either of our necks.

"Great, wonderful, fantastic," I amended, jovially. Then, rather sassily, I added, "Don't make me get all sappy."

"I kind of like it when you're sappy," Steve joked.

"Oh, gods. You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" I asked with faux disgust.

"Only a little," he said with one of those boyish smirks.

"A little? Excuse me while I roll my eyes in disbelief."

He shook his head at me like he usually did when I won our jabbing contests, and stooped down to kiss me. I'd started to lift myself on my toes to meet him when I suddenly remembered that the base was a few hundred yards away, and that anyone could see us. Without really thinking, I pushed my hand into his chest to stop him from moving any closer and turned my head to scan the big building in the distance. Steve instantly perked up with worry, as much as he could be worried, and followed my eyes toward the place we currently called home.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning back to me.

"Nothing," I immediately lied. Well, it was good to see being dishonest still came naturally to me.

"It's clearly not," Steve frowned.

Man, why did I always have to bring down the party? I was a raincloud of bullshit pouring down negativity on a field of puppies. Seriously. Enjoyment. Five minutes of it, please.

"I'm just worried we're being watched," I said, diffidently.

The shitty thing was, I wasn't worried at all. That glorious haze had filled my mind the moment Steve had touched me, pushing away all of the negative emotions that usually weighed on my mind. It was just pure instinct for me to find a way to push romantic partners out of my life. I was trying so hard to not do that to him, but sometimes I couldn't help it. If he hadn't been touching me, I would have been frustrated as all hell with myself.

"No one can see us out here," he pointed out.

Again, without thinking, I replied, "They might have binoculars."

"They don't," he said. "Why are you so worried that someone will see us?"

And here was where I started feeling like a horrible person. I didn't want the rumors of people thinking I slept my way to the top, or people thinking I couldn't do my job because I was with Steve, or people even berating me for taking him out of the dating pool. I didn't want my career, or his, to suffer. There were going to be a lot of complications when it came to dating Captain America, and that scared me.

"I don't want anyone to know. Not yet, anyway," I said. I looked up at him, expecting to see disappointment and pain in his eyes. It was there, just a touch of it, only as much as his mind would allow, but he seemed like he was mostly curious. So, I explained. "It's illogical as hell, but I keep thinking that it might affect our careers if someone found out about us. Or at least mine. Rumors alone could be enough to ruin my reputation or have me pulled from the case, but having it confirmed could see me reassigned to a different base or completely blacklisted. I don't want that."

Understanding flashed through his eyes. He turned his face toward the base again, to the people who were there not watching us, and sucked in a deep breath that lifted his chest and strained the buttons of his shirt. He let it out as he turned back to lock eyes with me. I wanted to look away like an embarrassed ingenue, but the determination in his gaze held me where I was. Besides, I was a badass government agent who could stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching. I could damn well look him in the eye.

"None of those things will happen," he said, his tone firm, yet soothing. "Fury trusts you to do your job, and he's not going to let rumors influence his decision to keep you as an agent. He defied the council when they made a decision he didn't like. He's not going to let a little bit of gossip get to him. You won't be blacklisted. You're too important to the government to do that. And something tells me that your reputation will always remain intact simply because of how you operate. If you heard a rumor, you'd probably hit the person who said it."

That made me smile a little, and with my lips still upturned at the corners, I said, "You're right. I guess I just need something to be anxious about or my head will explode."

"No, you don't. You're just trying to run in a different way," he replied with a small smirk.

And just like that, my smile was gone. No. No, I didn't want him to think I was running away again, because I wasn't. Part of my mind was just being dumb, but the rest of me was all kinds of intent on staying with him. I lov-…really liked him. I opened my mouth to explain it to him, to tell him I wasn't trying to pull away, that I really was trying to change, when he stopped me.

"It's okay," he insisted. "We both knew this was going to happen. You warned me, remember?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did, didn't I?" I said, letting out a slightly nervous, breathy laugh.

"I can see that you're trying to stop yourself, though. You're trying to stick around. Look, you barely even pushed me," he teased, touching my hand on his chest. He lifted my hand away from his shirt to engulf my hand in his. "That's progress."

Once again, he succeeded in making me smile. Man, he was getting good at pulling me out of my moods.

"And you're making progress in dealing with me," I joked.

"I'm going to be the best at dealing with you," he replied with a grin. Then he got all serious on me again, lowering his voice just a bit in quiet reassurance. "Dani, I promise you, nothing bad will happen if someone sees us."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right," I said.

I was still apprehensive, still worried somewhere in the back of my mind that someone other than me would try to ruin what Steve and I were building, and I think he knew it. Hell, I knew he knew it. He was good at reading people, and he was quickly becoming an expert at reading me.

"I am right," he said, firmly, "and I'll prove it to you."

He pulled my hand out from between us, drawing me into him as he draped my arm across his shoulder. His now free hand found my waist as his lips touched mine, and just like that, I was gone. Every last worry that had lingered behind the haze evaporated as I melted into him. I tugged my wrist from his grip to wrap my arms around his neck, lifting myself on my toes as pulled him down to deepen the kiss. His hands slid across the small of my back, holding me closer, pressing his need for my touch against my spine.

Then, and far too soon for my liking, he pulled away, leaving me light-headed and wanting more. He smiled down at me from inches away, his expression so sweet that my knees _did_ go weak this time.

"See?" he said, softly. "No one rang the alarms. We're fine."

A loud, shrill, mechanical screech suddenly rang across the open field, its echo bouncing off the trees in an assault on the ears that made my hair stand on end. It was an alarm. Goddammit. The universe was a cruel, conniving mistress that really loved to fuck with my head. But no matter what that alarm was for, be it the end of our relationship or the end of our stay at the Avengers base, it spelled potential disaster. Fun time was over.

I looked up at Steve's shocked and worried face, and said, "You were saying?"

Without another word, we pushed away from each other and took off across the field, toward the big, grey building that had plume of smoke rolling out of one of the windows.


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

I could smell smoke, could taste it at the back of my throat, but I couldn't see it. If I hadn't seen the smoke coming out of the window, I never would have known where to go because there were no rolling black clouds to guide me to the fire. The only thing that told me we were getting closer was how thick the scent was, how much it went from smelling like a snuffed-out candle to a house fire, and how heavily it stuck to my tongue. What made it all worse was that I couldn't hear any sounds of fighting. There was no yelling, no crackle of radios spouting garbled commands, no rumbling of boots as men swarmed the halls in tactical formations. The worry that we were under attack was slowly fading away, leaving me unnerved and confused. I hated not knowing what was going on.

Steve and I whipped around a corner to run down the hallway that held our room, and there, hugging the ceiling, were the wispy remnants of a dying cloud of smoke, and standing just under it was a black-haired man in a bullet-proof vest chatting on his phone. I slowed to a stop. Steve didn't. He zipped right past the agent on the phone like the man wasn't even there, and the agent returned the favor by not lifting his eyes away from the floor. Call me crazy, but usually when there's something serious enough for an alarm, people don't stand there yapping into their phone like a girl with a crush. The man's schoolgirl gossip came to an abrupt end as he pulled the phone from his ear and clipped it to his belt. Qu'est-ce que the hell?

"Krushnic," I barked, moving toward the man, "what the hell is going on?"

"Hey, Ryan," Krushnic said, casually. "We've got it under control now, but there was a fire in the kitchen."

My eyes widened in surprise at that. A fire in the kitchen? I mean, it made sense. If anywhere on base was going to have a fire, the kitchen with the gas stove would be ground zero for spontaneous flames. I glanced down the hall to see if Steve had abandoned his sprint in favor of information. He hadn't. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. It had taken me maybe ten seconds, tops, to come to a stop and start chatting, and Steve was already long gone, which meant that he'd been holding back the entire time we'd been running. Because of course he had been. Can't outrun the bodyguard, right? But I guess you can ditch the bodyguard if people might be in danger. That man had some interesting reasoning.

"Okay," I said slowly, taking a couple of steps toward the kitchen. "Fill me in."

Krushnic got the hint and started walking with me toward the scene, his hand set firmly on his phone as if he were expecting another call.

"Way I understand it is this," he started. "Lipnicki was on his lunch break and decided to heat his food on the stove rather than in the microwave like a normal person. He gets a call from a superior, gets distracted, stirs too hard and somehow manages to fling food right next to the open flame. Superior tells him to do something and rather than doing it after his break, he walks away, thinking it'll only be a minute. It's not. Food catches fire. He's not here to put it out, so it gets out of control. Fire alarm goes off and here we are."

Awesome. Next question. "What's the damage?"

"The stove top, part of the breakfast bar, and a frying pan have fire damage. Moderate smoke damage to the ceiling. The chicken teriyaki was unsalvageable," was the response.

That was good news, at least. It could have been a lot worse. Next question. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Only Lipnicki. Burned his hand pretty bad when he turned off the gas. He thought it would a better idea to do that first rather than grab the fire extinguisher. Can't say I blame him on that one," Krushnic replied. I didn't either, really. The last thing you want is for the stove to get so damaged that gas leaks into the room and explodes. Going for the fire extinguisher first would have had the same effect, and would have saved his hand, but he was probably freaking out and not thinking clearly. Krushnic, unaware of my silent agreement, continued. "He inhaled some smoke, too, but he should be fine. And before you ask, I already called Commander Holly and let her know what happened."

So that's why he was yammering into the phone while fire alarms were going off. Fire alarms that finally, blessedly, stopped their incessant chirping.

"Sounds like you guys were on top of it," I said.

"We were. I was surprised that the Captain wasn't the first on the scene. He's usually front and center when any kind of shit goes down. And you're never exactly late to the party, either. Where were you guys?" Krushnic asked.

His words made it sound like a simple inquiry, but there was a hitch in his tone, some underlying thought that made it sound like he was asking if we were doing naughty, unprofessional things while also accusing us of neglecting our jobs. Or maybe I was just projecting my own fears because, oh my fucking gods!

I knew it. I knew that something like this would happen. I knew that somehow, someway, this would blow up in our faces like a fucking grenade and that everything would go to hell. Our unprofessional personal relationship was slowly bleeding into our work relationship, and it was going to screw us over big time. I needed to set up some ground rules or something, like "no kissing on base" or "no looking at each other unless we were glaring" or "no talk of relationships until I was no longer his bodyguard" or "no talk of relationships until one of us quit." Oh, who was I kidding? None of those would work. It had been impossible to not kiss him when I was actively fighting against being with him. Now, I had no chance in hell of staying away, in any capacity. Once again, banging my head against something until I went unconscious was sounding mighty appealing.

Shoving the brand-new wave of anxiety into the recesses of my brain, I calmly stated, "We had pertinent business to take care of elsewhere on base that put us far away from the action. Had we been closer, I'm sure Captain Rogers would have been the first on the scene."

"What pertinent business would take you so far away from the main building?" Krushnic frowned.

To tell the truth, or to lie? That was the question. Maybe the twisted truth would work? Yeah, the twisted truth, because there was no way that no one saw a fucking lightning column. It might take them a while to figure out exactly what happened, but when they did, whatever lie I came up with would land me in hot water.

"Discussing the future with a god," I replied. "He's a bit worried about human affairs. We were discussing said matters and smoothing things over."

"Hold on," Krushnic said, holding out a hand to stop me from talking. "You and the Captain smoothed things over with a god about stuff happing on Earth? Why would a god listen to you two?"

"Who better to tell a god that everything is under control other than Mr. Morality himself?" I shrugged.

"Thor."

"He's unavailable for comment, _and_ he doesn't live here. He's not exactly an authority on human happenings," I replied.

"I don't think you guys are either, but okay," Krushnic said.

"The only opinion that matters on this is the god's," I replied, firmly.

"Why would a god care what humans are doing, anyway?" he asked.

"Because for some reason, Earth is a playground for alleged celestial and confirmed extraterrestrial beings, which gives us some semblance of importance in the scheme of things," I replied.

"Hmn," he said, thoughtfully. Then he added, "Wait, which god?"

"A big one," I said, dryly.

Krushnic opened his mouth to say what I could only assume was a half-way witty retort when we came upon the kitchen, which was filled with men in tactical vests, and he was called away to spew updates at his subordinates. Thank the fucking gods. Uh, universe. Thank somebody that I didn't have to deal with more anxiety-inducing questions. Also, fuck that same somebody for letting those questions happen in the first place.

Once again pushing my unhelpful thoughts to the back of my mind to fester, I looked around the kitchen. The middle of the breakfast bar was blackened with soot, as was the ceiling above the partially destroyed stove, and there was a thick, grey line of damage where the smoke had made its way to the still open windows. A man in a jumpsuit was fidgeting with the stove, probably making sure that there weren't any gas leaks from damaged equipment. There were still remnants of smoke hanging in the air, and it settled around everyone like a hazardous mist. I wondered why people were milling about in a place that was obviously bad for their health, but maybe they were waiting for something. Like a kick in the ass to get back to work.

Just beyond the cluster of tables stood Steve and a woman with long, brown hair, whom I could only assume was the elusive Wanda Maximoff. Huh. Why _hadn't_ I seen her around the base? I knew why I never saw her at work; we didn't run in the same circles. But now that I was living here, it seemed odd that I hadn't seen her until just now. Maybe she had a life? Yeah, that was probably it.

I slipped behind a man who was talking into a radio about fans and needing them now, dammit, and made my way over to the superpowered pair. Steve, who was facing the hallway, saw me coming, and I watched as his shoulders rounded in a show of professionalism. Wanda almost immediately turned to look, her green eyes wide with question as to why her friend had suddenly perked up. Then she saw me rounding the tables and it all clicked into place.

"Nothing like an impromptu barbeque to get the blood going," I quipped as I walked up. I instantly extended my hand to Wanda and stood to her left, and to Steve's right, forming a triangle. "I'm Agent Dani Ryan."

"Wanda Maximoff," she said in a thick accent as she shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you. Steve has told us a lot about you."

I spared Steve a quick glance as I took my hand back, and found him standing there with a shadow of a smile on his lips. I really hoped that it could be construed as a professional shadow smile. Still, despite my fears of people finding out about us, I thought that telling little smile was adorable. I wished he'd stop being cute for five seconds.

"Nice to meet you, too. Um, on a scale on one to ten, how worried should I be about the things Captain Rogers has told you?" I asked Wanda.

"Zero," she grinned. "He speaks very highly of you."

"Oh, thank goodness," I said with a fake sigh of relief. I made my lips mirror Wanda's smile, which wasn't much of a feat since I was pleased to meet her, and said, "And, he does the same for you."

He actually didn't, because we'd never really talked about her before, what with being busy with Hydra, Barnes, and romance, and all. Still, if he were going to say a word about her, it would be the kindest word he could think of. She seemed to be a sweet girl, perhaps a bit sassy, which I thought was a good combination. What wasn't a good combination was meeting new people and being shitty at small talk. There was a reason I was usually sent on missions that mainly involved shooting people. As such, it was time to change the topic.

I looked up to the charred ceiling and said, "Speaking of highly."

"Thankfully, we have only one injury," Steve said, immediately. It said something about him that casualties were the first thing he spoke about.

"Yeah. And thankfully nothing blew up," I said, looking at him. "There seems to be minimal damage all around."

"That's because the agent acted quickly," Steve said.

"I hope he's alright. His hand did not look like there was minimal damage," Wanda chimed in.

"Don't worry too much. Burns always look horrible, but given the short amount of time his hand was in the fire, it's probably a mild-to-moderate second-degree burn. They hurt like hell, but they're easily treatable," I said.

"That's very specific. How do you know that?" Wanda asked, her eyebrows pinching together in question.

"She reads a lot," Steve replied with a smirk.

"An exorbitant amount," I added.

"What you read is correct," a smooth English voice said from behind me.

My hand instantly touched my gun as I turned around to face a red and silver man. Vision. He had to be, because who else around here was maroon? He was only a few feet to my right, now, quietly slipping into the space between me and Wanda, and looking at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry to have startled you," he said.

"No worries," I said, moving my hand away from my belt to extend it to him. For the second time in ten minutes, I shook hands with an Avenger. "Sometimes a stray leaf can make me jump. I'm Agent Dani Ryan."

"I'm Vision," he said, with a small nod. "It's nice to meet you.

"Nice to meet you, too. You said Lipnicki has second-degree burns, yeah?"

"Yes," he said, lifting his chin to address the entire trio. "They are moderate, it seems. He tried to grab the knob of the stove twice. Even so, he should recover with no issues."

"That's good to hear," Steve said. "He's lucky it's not worse."

"He is fully aware of that," Vision stated. "He does feel very guilty about his role in the fire. I was unable to comfort him."

"Mistakes happen," Wanda said. "Perhaps there is a silver lining. He can take a vacation, and we might get a better stove."

"Indeed. You never did like using gas. Now I understand why," Vision said.

"Yes. Fire is difficult to control. Even for me," she said.

Something told me she was being humble. Hydra gave her an interesting set of powers that would be extremely beneficial for them, and my guess was that keeping a fire contained would be among their top priorities. If she tried, I'd have bet good money that she could do it. Vision seemed to agree.

"I think you would do quite well at it," he said.

Wanda gave him an appreciative smile, a sweet, silent thank you for his confidence in her. Thousands of unspoken words passed between them in the space of half a second, many of them holding romantic subtext, before something flashed in her eyes and she turned back to me and Steve.

"You're living here now, right?" she asked.

"Temporarily," Steve replied, just barely managing to keep a knowing look from overcoming his eyes. He'd seen the sparks between them, too, then. Glad it wasn't just me. "Only until everything smooths over with Hydra."

"But that might take a while," Wanda pointed out.

"Hopefully not," I said. "Several teams have been added to the effort of finding and flushing out Hydra operatives. I'm cautiously optimistic that we'll be here for a month, tops."

"You're optimistic about leaving? Do you not like it here?" she asked, sounding slightly concerned, I think more for my wellbeing than for her pride about her home. After all, not liking a place you had to live was ever a good thing.

"I like it just fine. It's just not my home," I replied.

"I second that. This is your home," Steve said, looking between Wanda and Vision. "The last thing you should have are house guests that won't leave."

"You can't leave," Vision stated. "That makes it different."

"That doesn't mean your space should be violated. Even welcome house guests can overextend their stay. Even if they're forced into it," I said.

"It's very kind of you to think of us while you're already in a difficult situation. You're being hunted, yet you worry about our wellbeing," Wanda said.

"It's common courtesy," Steve said. Jokingly, he added, "And I kind of want you to keep liking me."

"We will always like you. You are our friend," Wanda said with a smile.

"Then I guess I don't have to worry," Steve quipped.

Wanda's smile brightened, then instantly dimmed as she looked past Steve's shoulder, which was a task that was incredibly easy for her since she was about five foot seven. I was certain that if she'd had more field experience, she would have been the one bodyguarding Steve, since she had both height and considerable power. But she wasn't, and it looked like she had other things to do, anyway.

"I'm sorry. I have to go. I'm meeting a friend for dinner," she said, looking around the circle.

"A male friend?" Vision asked, his tone holding both curiosity and the tiniest hint of jealousy.

"No, Vis," Wanda said, her smile widening again. "A woman friend. We're going to talk about shoes and wine."

Vision smiled a bit at her joke and conceded with a sideways nod. Wanda turned to me and held her hand out for yet another shake.

"It was very nice to meet you, Dani. Perhaps we can talk more later," she said.

"Definitely," I smirked.

She removed her hand from mine and took a couple of steps back, silently announcing that she was indeed leaving. Apparently, she wasn't one of those people that said they were heading out, then proceeded to stick around for another fifteen minutes. Good on her.

"I'll see you guys later," she said. With that, she turned around and sauntered off toward the hallway.

She'd barely cleared the crowd when Vision turned to us and said, "I shall take my leave, as well. I need to check on the injured agent. I think I need to work on consoling people."

Rather than shake hands again, he gave two simple nods of farewell to me and Steve, and without another word, silently strode away.

"They seem nice," I said once Vision's heels had disappeared around the corner.

"They are," Steve said. "Wanda's a good kid. She's finally starting to come out of her shell and find friends outside of the Avengers."

"Took her a while, huh?" I asked.

The rumble of wheels echoed down the hallway, sounding like they were being pushed into the tile by something heavy. Hopefully, someone was finally bringing in fans to clear out the remaining smoke. This was my cue to leave. It was bad enough standing in a cloud of the stuff, but having it blown in your face via huge ass fan was much worse. I started walking towards the hallway as two trolleys holding two giant fans rounded the corner. Steve got the message and followed, joining me in my mission to aimlessly wander down the hall.

"Yeah," he replied. "It was a big adjustment for her. She moved to a new country immediately after her brother died, and she didn't really know anyone. Fighting next to someone is a hell of a lot different than having to talk to them every day. Clint has helped her a lot, though. He's introduced her to a lot of people and really pushed her to start living again."

"Good. Being cooped up here can't be good for her, and being alone allows the mind to wander too much. She'd have gone insane if she stayed in here," I said. "What about Vision? He's AI, so he must be adapting well."

"He adapted to almost everything within a matter of seconds after he was created. The only thing he has trouble with sometimes is human emotion and social cues, but he's getting the hang of it," he replied.

"Which is why he's trying to comfort Lipnicki," I said.

"Exactly."

"Maybe you can give him some tips," I suggested. "You have this uncanny ability to read people."

"No, I don't. I just notice things," he said. He paused for a second and glanced down at me. "Like how you have something on your mind."

Shit. If he could _not_ read me like a book, that would be great. I wasn't even really thinking about the upsetting questions Krushnic had asked. Sure, it was in the back of my mind, festering until it would eventually explode into yet another instance of flip-flopping on the dock if I didn't eventually address it, but I wasn't actively thinking about it. Maybe I was losing my touch and hadn't been able to hide my discomfort enough when I walked into the kitchen, and Steve picked up on it because of his aforementioned talent of noticing fucking everything. Or maybe he could just read me. Damn it all!

"Nice segue, but noticing things people do in order to figure out what they're thinking is reading people," I pointed out, trying keep the conversation on the track I wanted it to be on.

"Good attempt at avoiding the conversation," he said, "but it's not going to work. What's going on?"

"Nothing new," I lied.

Well, it wasn't quite a lie since it was the same problem as before, only it was no longer entirely hypothetical. Someone was asking questions, just like I'd feared.

A hand grabbed my arm just above the elbow, pulling me to a stop as soothing tingles shot through my body. A sigh born of dying frustration and increasing peace escaped my throat, and I turned to face Steve, who was frowning at me something fierce. He tore his eyes from me to glance down the hallway toward the kitchen, and suddenly thought better of holding on to me where people could see us because grabbing people when you were talking to them in a professional setting was generally frowned upon. So, he let me go. His worried frown, however, stayed in place as he settled his eyes on me again. I wanted to be frustrated with him, to be angry that he'd grabbed me and to be angrier that he wouldn't leave well enough alone, but I knew that I'd just be projecting my anger for myself on to him. He was worried that I was going to run away, and I didn't blame him.

"You can lie to other people, but you can't lie to me. If I can read anyone, it's you. What happened?" he said.

Curse you, soulmate connection thing! Would I be able to hide nothing from him? I needed to be at least a little bit mysterious, and he was seriously ruining that for me. In most cases, it was for my own good, but whatever. Mysterious!

"Let me preface this by saying that I'm fine. It's nothing I'm not already dealing with. It's just a new development," I started. He gave a single nod that he understood, and I continued. "Krushnic, the guy who was on the phone earlier… He started asking questions."

"The kind you were worried about," Steve said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"Bingo. But I'm working through it. I'm not freaking out any more than I was before," I said, trying to sound reasonable. With a smile, I added, "And look, I didn't even try to kind of push you away this time."

With that, his anxious mood broke and he smiled, gracing me with one of those adorable head dips.

"No, you didn't," he acquiesced, looking back up.

I wanted to touch him, hold his hand reassuringly or brush my fingers over his arm, but with my luck, someone would come around the corner and catch us being all intimate, and then we would really be fucked. And not in the good way. The way he was looking at me and the way the muscles in his arms tensed, I knew that he was having the exact same thought. Hmn. How could we release our tension? In a way that wouldn't require any kind of disrobing? Oo! We could visit Barnes! It might add a bit of stress later on, sure, but Steve seeing his friend would be a surefire way to take his mind off of everything, including me.

"Hey," I said, tapping the back of my fingers to his wrist to dispel at least some of our need to touch each other, "let's go check on Barnes. Make sure the fire alarms didn't give him a heart attack."

And that was all it took to make Steve light up. He knew what I was doing, too, and I could tell from the look in his eyes that he appreciated my efforts.

"Because he's old, too, right?" he joked.

"You said it. Not me," I replied, dryly.

I started moving down the hall again, this time with a clear destination in mind.

It wasn't long before we reached the door to the interrogation room, and I instantly started wondering how I would be able to make a good personal impression while still remaining professionally unbiased. I'd been mostly professional up to this point, after all. This was going to be an interesting tightrope to walk. Steve, having come to this room numerous times without his wholly unnecessary bodyguard in tow, immediately opened the door and strode in. I followed, stopping a few feet inside the door.

The room was almost completely unchanged from the last time I'd been in there. The metal and glass cell was still smack in the center of the room, a metal table and chair opposite it, and Barnes was still tightly confined to his uncomfortable looking chair. The only thing that had changed was that there were two guards, one with sandy blonde hair and the other with light brown hair, fully dressed in tactical gear and pointing automatic rifles at the floor, on either side of the room. That wasn't surprising. Honestly, I was surprised there weren't more guards, given Barnes' murderous history. I guess they weren't viewing him as much of a threat since he was here of his own volition. I was going to count that as a point in his favor.

"Give us some privacy," Steve politely yet firmly ordered as he walked toward the metal table. He sat on the edge of it and looked expectantly at the unmoving guards.

Despite already having near perfect posture, the two men straightened at the order, shifting reluctantly on their feet.

The brunet man, who was closest to me, said, "Sir, we were told-"

"To get out," I interrupted, flatly. "Yes, we know. We all just heard it."

"No," the man said, indignantly. "We were told t-"

That's it. I was officially done. My day had already been a hodge-podge of strained eyes, boredom, and coming to terms with things that scared the fuck out of me. I did not have the patience to deal with an arguing half-wit that thought it was okay to ignore two direct orders from superiors. I didn't care who he got his original orders from, either. I would deal with them later. Right now, this guy was in our way, and I didn't like that.

I pulled my spine straight and stiff, rolling back my shoulders and lifting my chin until it was very clear that I wasn't going to play nice. I latched on to the anger that had been brewing in the back of my mind and shoved it into my core, letting it slide through my veins and fill me up until it seeped out of my pores to become a heavy, formidable presence that made groups of men quail. It filled my eyes, and I leveled a glare at him that was so cold it could freeze fire.

The man blanched, and his words died on his tongue. He even seemed to shrink a bit, his tall frame caving in on itself. His throat worked to gulp down the touch of fear that had flashed behind his eyes.

After a moment he said, "We'll wait outside."

And that was all it took for me to instantly revert to normal, giving the soldier a polite smile, which only served to unnerve him more.

"Thank you," I chirped.

Both men started moving toward the door, the blonde carefully avoiding me as I moved to take his spot against the left wall. It was so wonderful to know that I wasn't, in fact, losing my touch. Fury and Steve were simply immune to my glares. The door clicked closed as my shoulder touched plaster, and I just managed to catch Steve and Barnes share a look that very clearly said I hadn't unsettled just the guards. Okay, maybe he wasn't immune and I just hadn't pulled out the full glare on him due to who he was. Well, kill me now and put "Unnerved Two Super Soldiers" on my tombstone, because my work here was done!

The men quickly broke eye contact, and Barnes looked at me. His eyes were a bit hardened and a touch wary after my little show. I might have gone too far. I'd already made some good impressions, but he could easily revoke his stamp of approval before Steve and I even thought of announcing our relationship status. Whatever that was.

"Are you here to ask me more questions?" Barnes asked.

"No," I said, nonchalantly, crossing my arms over my stomach. "But, I mean, if you want me to, I can. What's pi to the fiftieth digit?"

A smile curved the corners of his lips. I was back in his good graces.

"Then this isn't a professional visit?" he asked, his tone far more relaxed.

"Nope. I wanted to see how you were doing. It can't exactly be a picnic being locked in that thing," I replied.

His smile fell away, and a bit of bitterness settled into his features. To his credit, though, he didn't sound bitter at all when he said, "It's not. I wasn't expecting a hotel room, but I wasn't expecting this either."

"Can you blame them?" I asked. "You have a pretty solid reputation of being a homicidal maniac. And you tried to kill the Director. Even though you were under Hydra control at the time, we have to take precautions. You're lucky you don't have more guards in here."

"I know," he said. "It doesn't make this any more bearable."

"I know," I said in return, a wry smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. "You look about as happy as a wolf that ate a lemon. And I have a feeling that that fire alarm didn't help things."

"It didn't," he admitted, humor blooming on his face at my analogy. "But I wasn't getting shot at, so that counts for something."

He turned to Steve, then, who was still sitting on the table. He was leaning his right forearm on his right thigh, his left hand firmly planted on his other thigh and his arm akimbo. A small smile graced his lips, and I knew that he was inwardly ecstatic that Barnes and I were getting along.

"What was that alarm for?" Barnes asked Steve.

"A kitchen fire," Steve replied. "Someone wasn't paying attention to what they were doing and now we're getting a new stove."

"Sounds like it wasn't a very big deal, but those two meatheads were acting like it was the end of the world," Barnes said, lifting his chin towards the closed door and the guards beyond it.

"Might've been their food that got burned," Steve shrugged, knowing damn well that wasn't the case.

"I know I'd be pissed if my chicken teriyaki got turned to ash," I said, wryly.

Barnes and Steve turned back to me, Steve wearing one of those adorable little smirks and Barnes holding a glint of something insidious in his eye.

"Maybe I can buy you some once I get out of here. You're single, right?" he said, boldly.

Boy, he didn't miss a chance, did he? I didn't think I'd ever heard him that confident, either. Granted, I hadn't really spent a lot of time with him, but still. It was almost like he'd done this a thousand times before and never been rejected once, and if he ever had been rejected, it hadn't made him break his stride. It was actually kind of nice to see Barnes being a human rather than an angry former fugitive. It wasn't so nice that it was coming at my expense. It wasn't nice at all that I'd been caught completely off-guard.

My eyebrows did a real neat trick of trying to touch my hairline, my head tilting to the side and moving forward as if to ask him to repeat what he just said. I couldn't quite help the small smile that curved my lips. Uncomfortable or not, this was kind of funny. Steve did not seem to agree with me. He was frowning, his eyebrows pinching together in frustration. And there was something in his eyes, something he kept trying to push back and swallow, something that would probably turn him as green as the Hulk if he let it overtake him. He was jealous. He'd probably seen Barnes ask plenty of women on dates, but he'd never had to deal with his friend hitting on someone he deeply cared about. First time for everything, I guess.

"Bucky," Steve said, exasperatedly scolding his friend. Somehow, he managed to keep his envy out of his voice. Lots of points to him.

"What? She's beautiful. You can't expect me not to ask," Bucky replied.

"She can also hear you," I chimed in.

The men turned back to me. Barnes managed to look apologetic while retaining his air of confidence, and Steve just looked apologetic. I would bet good money that he was kicking himself in the ass for being even slightly jealous. Steve knew that Barnes never would have asked my relationship status if he knew I was romantic with Steve. And I would hope that Steve knew I would never even consider cheating on him in any capacity. I spared Steve a quick glance that said he was fine before turning back to Barnes and capturing his gaze.

"I'm seeing someone," I said.

As suspected, Barnes' confidence didn't so much as waver as he said, "My loss. He's a lucky man."

"You say that now," I quipped. "Wait until you get to know me."

"You'll be saying it even more," Steve said.

Apparently, he'd taken my reassuring look to heart, as a playful smirk was quirking up one side of his mouth. He turned away from me just as I turned to give him a look of feigned annoyance, settling his eyes solidly on Barnes.

"You're not helping," I said.

"Wasn't trying to," he countered, with a single shake of his head.

"Thanks for the support," I replied, sarcastically.

"You're welcome," he said.

I pursed my lips at that, narrowing my eyes like I was both utterly unimpressed and completely over his sass.

"You're a jerk," I said, dryly.

He looked at me then, a bright, playful smile lighting up his face. It was one of those infectious grins, the kind that could easily make an entire room of gloomy people start dancing out of joy. I didn't dance, but I couldn't help but smirk back at him. I had to roll my eyes for good measure, just to make it seem like I wasn't having a good time. It did not fool him in the least. It did, however, seem to confuse the hell out of Barnes, who was looking between me and Steve with an inquisitive eye and a lot of suspicion.

"Are you sure _you two_ aren't dating?" he asked, his eyebrows beetling over blue eyes.

Steve's eyes widened as he turned back to his friend, his lips parting in consternation. I think he actually forgot for a moment that we weren't alone and that we weren't supposed to be flirting. If that's what you could call it. He took a breath to respond, to lie or try to skirt around the truth, which were two things he was utterly horrible at. We had a camera on us. We couldn't afford for him to be caught fibbing. Plus, it was cruel to make him lie to his best friend. So, I interrupted.

"We're sure," I replied.

"Well, maybe you should be. You bicker like an old married couple," Barnes said.

"Nah. I don't date charges. It's one of my rules," I responded.

"You have a lot of rules," Barnes frowned.

"Not really," I mumbled.

"And you already broke one."

I did what now? What rule did I break? I didn't break rules!

"You don't call people by their first names, right?" Barnes continued.

Oh, slap a duck and fuck your mother. That's right. I'd slipped up when we were being chased and had done the very dumb thing of breaking my own rule in front of someone else. I mean, it shouldn't be a big deal. It was a rule I made up that wasn't implemented by the agency, but it was something I strictly adhered to, and everyone knew it. Breaking it could show favoritism, or worse, affection. It shouldn't be a big deal, but to my anxiety-laden brain, it was a very big deal.

"In a professional setting, correct," I replied.

"You call Steve by his first name," Barnes said.

Balls.

"She has no choice," Steve interjected. Bless him for being able to read me like a book. Eh, on second thought, that wasn't always a good thing, as I'd been reminded in the hallway. Bless him for saving my ass yet again. Yeah. Yeah, that worked. "She gave me an opening to get around the rule and I used it."

"Which is a fancy way of saying he tricked me," I joked.

"How did you trick her?" Barnes asked Steve.

Yet again, it was my turn to get Steve out of a tricky spot. Man, we just kept passing this torch back and forth, didn't we?

"It's a secret," I said before Steve could take a breath.

"Then how can I get you to use my first name?" Barnes asked. "If you're dating my best friend, we should be on a first name basis."

Hmn. He was pretty smooth. Not smooth enough, and not as smooth as Steve had been when he'd asked me out, but it was a solid effort. Speaking of Steve, I could see him in my peripheral vision, his head bowed in a half-assed attempt at exasperation, his lips pursed so he didn't smile, and his hair hiding his face, and what little guilt resided there, from Barnes. He was an emotionally complicated man. Once he got his feelings under control and knew he wouldn't completely blow our cover, he lifted his head to rejoin the conversation.

"First off, I'm not dating your best friend," I replied.

That was kind of true. According to Steve, we hadn't been on an official date, and in my book, it took at least three dates to officially state that you were dating someone, or at least a couple of weeks of constant romantic interaction, and we weren't at two weeks yet. Not dating. Steve's reaction, however, said he thought we were guilty as charged. So, dating. Therefore, it was kind of true.

"To answer your question," I continued, "you just need to hang in there until this is over. Then I'll call you damn near anything you want."

Barnes' face fell and I could almost feel his confidence ebb away. He didn't think this was going to end well for him.

"This might never be over," he said, solemnly.

"Everything is temporary," I said, trying to sound both comforting and certain.

"That means even the good things are temporary," he replied. He kept his eyes locked on mine, and I had the feeling he was trying to not look at Steve. Of all the things he didn't want to be temporary, Steve was definitely one of them.

"The good things always come back, Buck," Steve said.

"Steve's right. The good things always come back around, even if we don't think they will," I said. Then, I lifted my hand away from my stomach, pointing to the ground and wiggling my finger, trying to encompass the whole situation as I firmly added, "And this shit ain't gonna happen again."

"How do you know?" Barnes frowned.

My hand instantly shot out and pointed at Steve, my face clearly asking if Barnes could see the blond sitting on the desk. Barnes' sour mood shattered, a breathy chuckle shaking his chest. Steve grinned and shook his head, once again looking like sunshine personified.

"Okay. You have a point," Barnes conceded.

"Damn right," I said. "That man would kill every fish in the ocean, ecosystem be damned, just to keep you safe for five minutes."

Steve instantly opened his mouth to argue, probably to say that he wouldn't put the planet in jeopardy like that, when Barnes cut him off.

"Don't even try to deny it, pal," he teased.

"Wha-, I…" Steve started, obviously intending to say that he wasn't going to deny anything.

"Yes, you were," I countered.

Steve looked between Barnes and me, looking adorably bewildered that he was getting sassed from both sides.

"Why do I feel like I'm being ganged up on?" he asked.

"Because you are," Barnes smiled.

Unfolding my arms, I pushed away from the wall and strode behind the metal table. Steve watched me as I slipped behind him and leaned across the table to slap a hand against his bicep. Ignoring the familiar feeling that shot through my body, I gave him a wicked smirk. Unfortunately for me, the glint he got in his eyes was a different kind of wicked. I was going to pay for this later. I just knew it.

"And you just got taken down by this tag team," I joked.

"Please tell me you're leaving," he teased. "I can't take much more of this."

"Nope!" I chirped, pushing away from him. I grabbed the metal chair and set it to where I could see Barnes, Steve, and the door without problems, plopped down, and slung my feet onto the table. "I just wanted to sit down. So, Barnes, what are your plans for when you get out of here?"

"When?" Barnes asked, suspiciously.

"I'm an optimist," I shrugged, once again crossing my arms over my stomach.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe get an apartment. Take in a baseball game. Are the Yankees still good?"

"One of the best," Steve replied. "Last season they were fourth in the American League East."

"Who was first?" Barnes asked.

"The Red Sox," Steve replied. "But get this: this year the Chicago Cubs won the World Series for the first time in over one hundred years."

"You're kidding me," Barnes said. "One hundred years? I know they lost their stride in the 40's, but that's ridiculous."

"Maybe I'll grab a couple of tickets to one of their games," Steve offered. "It can be your first game since you came back."

"That's almost sacrilegious," Barnes joked. "What if your mother heard you say that? It'd be Hail Mary's for a week. How are you even allowed in New York with that attitude?"

"Alright," Steve laughed. "I'll get a couple of Yankees tickets and spare the rosary."

"Those tickets can't be cheap," Barnes said, thoughtfully. He relaxed into his chair, which I found to be an impressive feat seeing as how it looked incredibly uncomfortable. "A pack of gum is a dollar these days."

"They're not cheap at all," Steve admitted, "but they're worth it. It's the Yankees."

"Which makes it weirder that you were going to take me to a Chicago game, you punk," Barnes quipped.

Alright. Extensive sportsball talk was my cue to leave. I could get to know Barnes better a bit later, when he wasn't under constant surveillance and when I didn't have to watch what I said. As silently as I could, I removed my booted feet from the table and righted my chair. Alas, when you're in directly in someone's line of sight, it's incredibly difficult to sneak off. Barnes spotted my ill-fated attempt at an escape as I slid off my chair, which, in turn, drew in Steve's attention as I stood up.

"You're leaving?" Barnes asked, sounding a tad disappointed.

"Yeah," I said, dragging my fingers along the table as I moved toward the door. "I figured you two would want some actual privacy."

"Well…thanks for checking up on me," he said, earnestly.

"Of course. I have to make sure you're not throwing any wild parties in here. There could be a bunch of code violations, and it's just a whole thing," I joked, waving a hand around dismissively.

"Would you change your mind if we invited you?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"Eh, I'm not at liberty to say," I replied with a hint of regret. Making sure the camera wouldn't be able to pick it up, I gave the men a discreet wink and grabbed the door handle. "Have a good talk, you guys."

I turned around and opened the door, only to be greeted by the two guards from before standing on either side of the doorway, their backs as rigid and straight as steel rods, their hands ready to lift their guns to shoot any threat that walked out of the interrogation room. That threat being Barnes, namely. Once their brains registered that I wasn't a man with a metal arm, they relaxed. And then they did the dumb thing of trying to walk past me in to the room. Could they not see that Steve wasn't right behind me? Did they not comprehend that that meant the super men still wanted time alone? Apparently not.

Reaching into the back of my mind once again, I pulled out a good chunk of frustration. Unfortunately for these morons, my annoyance came out as an angry Southern mother.

Through gritted teeth, I growled, " _Get_ …your ass back.

I don't know if it was because the first word was so sharp and forceful or if they weren't expecting immediate anger, but both men actually jumped and took a couple of steps back. I walked into the hall, pulling the door closed behind me as the men gave me more room to move. I heard Barnes' laugh slip through the narrowing crack just before the door clicked shut. Apparently, a small woman spooking two Tac Team members was hilarious to him. Five bucks said he would be teasing them about it later, too. Good man.


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

I pulled away from the wall, shifting so I could situate the pillow more squarely in the small of my back. It didn't make my shoulders feel any better, but it sure eased some of the ache on my lower spine. At least my butt and legs were comfortable, with the mattress providing plenty of padding for my newly sore muscles. Today was supposed to be my day off from working out, but there were only so many ways to stave off boredom in this place, and I didn't want to read through all of the books I'd brought when I wouldn't be able to go to my apartment and grab more. Honestly, I'd already read too much of the book I had propped up on my knees. Not like that was going to stop me from reading another chapter. I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, completely forgetting that it was still damp from my shower. That's what happens when a book completely distracts you from the real world; you forget to check in with your senses until it's too late. I sucked on my teeth in mild irritation, wiped my hand on my pantleg, and turned the page of my book.

The main character had just finished arguing with a pair of demons, as she was wont to do, when a knock sounded at the door and Steve's muffled voice floated through the room.

"Dani?" he said, asking if it was safe to come in.

"Yep!" I called out.

I found where my finger had marked my place and continued reading as the door slid open. The rustle of plastic bags and the smell of food almost immediately pulled me away from the pages again. I lifted my head to find Steve standing in the doorway of the partition, looking devastatingly handsome, as usual. His hair was damp from his own shower, and he was dressed in his nighttime gear of black sweatpants and a dark blue shirt. But tonight, there was a scrumptious addition to his form standing in my doorway; there were two plastic bags printed with Chinese hanzi hanging from his fingers.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, lifting the bags a little for emphasis.

"I am very hungry," I said, eagerly shoving a bookmark between the pages of my novel and pushing away from the wall. "Thank you."

Steve took that as his invitation to enter and made his way to the bed. I pulled my legs in until I was sitting cross-legged, giving him room to both sit down and set the food down on the bed between us.

"The kitchen is off limits until tomorrow night so they can renovate it, so I sent someone for takeout. We also have to eat in our room tonight," he said by way of explanation as he positioned himself near the foot of the bed and crisscrossed his legs.

"That's perfectly fine with me," I replied. I shoved my hand into one of the bags to start pulling cartons out. It wanted easy access to my food, and plastic bags tended to prevent that. "I didn't want to trek to a breakroom, anyway. It feels like the closest one is a mile away."

"Quarter-mile," he joked. He started unpacking the bag closest to him, handing me chopsticks and bottle of water as he went.

"Still unjustifiable," I replied. As I set my bag next to the bed for later use, I added, "I have to admit, I've been craving Chinese food since that chicken teriyaki debacle."

Steve glanced up at me, a small smirk on his face as he opened one of the boxes.

"I figured after your comment earlier," he said, glancing inside the carton.

He made a face that looked a lot like contentment, and without another word, handed the carton over to me and grabbed another one for himself. I eyed him suspiciously for about half a second before looking down at the food in my hand. It was chicken teriyaki. Bless this man, for he knew the way of the Dani!

With wide, almost wondering eyes, I looked up at him and asked, "Can I keep you?"

A laugh burst from his lips, rounding his shoulders and dropping his head as if he couldn't quite believe I'd randomly say something so strange. Hey, it's not my fault that he'd never seen _Casper_. Although we were going to be fixing that eventually.

"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," he chuckled.

"Yay," I replied, softly.

I ripped open the package for the disposable chopsticks and immediately starting stuffing my face with deliciousness. Thank the universe that Saturday was my cheat day. That's not to say that I would have turned my nose up at the food had it not been my cheat day, because I never turned my nose up at good food, but it sure did help me alleviate any guilt I might have had. Holy shit, this stuff was tasty. Steve had broken into a box that looked like Mongolian beef. What else had he gotten?

"You abandoned the shorts, huh?" he asked suddenly.

I looked up at him quizzically as he placed a chunk of beef in his mouth. He nodded his head at my legs and I looked down my body. I did indeed have on thin, grey pants in an attempt to curb my anxiety of coworkers seeing my ass, while also trying to keep my legs from turning into a sauna. The dark red tank top helped keep my arms cool, which I hoped would help keep the rest of me cool. That sweater the other day had not been a good idea. My legs and one shoulder had been cool, but the rest of my torso was way too hot. How ironic was it that a woman who couldn't be burned by fire had to wear thin pants and a tank top so she didn't roast to death?

Turning back to my food, I echoed Steve from earlier and said, "I thought wearing shorts might be considered teasing."

"It is," Steve replied with a smirk, "but you won't hear me complaining."

"Am I going to hear you complaining now that I'm not wearing shorts?" I asked.

"No," he said, not looking at me. "You made up for it with the tank top."

I was so glad I didn't have food in my mouth, because I probably would have choked on it the second I started laughing. He was getting naughtier by the hour! Before I knew it, he was going to surpass me in salaciousness, and then we'd both be fucked. Literally. I'd had a hard enough time holding back when he was completely innocent, but if he started having a steady interest in raunchy topics, it was going to be almost impossible to keep my hands off of him and my streak of being good would come to a screeching halt. Ugh, curse you, spell thing! I wanted to give him the textbook definitions of everything before we got to the hands-on demonstration. It looked like that conversation was going to be coming up sooner rather than later. Man, I really didn't know how I felt about that. Well, I knew how my body felt about that, but my mind was apprehensive as all hell.

Okay, I needed to change the subject, or this food was going to get cold before we had the chance to eat it. Besides, no one sexy sweat in their lo mien.

"Glad to hear that," I joked, then quickly added, "How's Barnes? He seemed a bit more chipper when I left."

Steve, barely managing to hide a knowing smirk as he swallowed his food, said, "You coming to visit raised his spirits. He thought he only had me in his corner, and I couldn't tell him that you were on our side. I think he knows who you're fighting for, now. And before you ask, your lawyer act gave him an idea, but he knew you were supposed to be unbiased, so he couldn't quite get a read on you."

"I'm glad I could help ease his mind," I replied. "It was pretty cool getting to know him a little beyond his titles of soldier and brainwashed guy. And I think I got the 'Best Friend Seal of Approval.'"

"What's that?" Steve asked.

"You know, when the best friend approves of the person their friend is seeing," I explained. "Weird connection or not, getting his approval is important."

I shoved another piece of chicken in my mouth before setting the carton aside and reaching for another box. We had a bunch of food here. I wasn't going to limit myself to one item. I broke open a box of lemon chicken and ride, once again praised Steve for his choices in food, and noshed on some rice.

"You got that seal of approval when he asked you on a date," Steve said, a hint of the green-eyed monster coloring his tone.

I looked up at him inquisitively, tilting my head a bit as I took in his body language. He was fighting away tension that tightened his shoulders, trying to convince himself that he was being ridiculous. It was like we were in the interrogation room all over again, only this time he could let some of the emotion out. He couldn't expose us to the world if we were alone, after all, and he wouldn't have to explain his anger to Barnes' over the latter's flirtatious ways.

"Are you jealous?" I asked.

There was no judgement in my tone, nothing to tell him I was angry or thought he was blowing things out of proportion; there was only curiosity. And I think that was part of the reason that his head snapped up so quickly.

"No, of course not" he instantly lied. I gave him a look that said I didn't believe him, and he, looking quite embarrassed, amended, "A little bit. I know you two would never…you know. But for some reason…"

"That's normal," I said. Steve looked at me like he was surprised, like he thought I might flip-flop on him again and make his doubts a reason for me to run. Not this time, buddy. "Remember when I told you about polyamory?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, even in those relationships, with everyone consenting and communicating clearly, they can still get jealous. A little bit of jealousy is completely natural. Too much jealousy isn't, but that little flutter of it is just a part of life for some people. You're right that Barnes and I would never…you know. Neither of us would ever do anything to willingly hurt you. Especially like that."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Steve said with a gentle smile. "It makes it easier to believe for some reason."

"Sometimes we just need the verbal confirmation that we're not completely bananas," I said, shoving chicken and rice into my mouth.

Steve chuckled a little and nodded his agreement. And then some thought hit him and he popped his head up again.

"Have you ever been jealous?" he asked.

The temptation to speak with my mouth full was intense, but my father would fly to New York and smack me upside the head if I did that, so I settled for nodding and chewing. I managed to swallow just as Steve opened his mouth.

"With me?"

"Yep," I said, without missing a beat.

His eyes widened for a moment before he asked, "With who? It wasn't Wanda, was it?"

"No," I said, adamantly. "Wanda clearly has no interest in you. Her interests lie elsewhere."

That knowing smile of his curved his lips for a split-second before being quickly replaced with a curious frown.

"Who was it, then?" he asked.

Swallowing down my own embarrassment with a few grains of rice, I said, "The receptionist at the hotel. But only a tiny bit."

Cue utter shock. Steve's chopsticks stopped digging around in his carton as his wide eyes locked on mine. I carefully focused on a particularly tasty-looking piece of meat.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. She was eyeing you," I replied.

"I don't remember her doing that," he admitted, "but it was a while ago."

Now it was my turn for my head to snap up.

"It was a week and a half ago!" I exclaimed, incredulously.

"For us, that might as well be three and a half months," he countered.

Okay, he had a point there. Our relationship was moving at an incredible pace. Most people wouldn't even remember their date's last name a week and a half in, and here we were, not even at date one, and we'd already slept in the same bed twice.

"True, but in real time, it's not that long ago. You seriously don't remember?"

"Not the way you remember it. I thought she was being nice," he said.

"She was being nice _and_ eyeing you," I reasoned.

"I think it's telling that I didn't notice," he said, "and I hope it's obvious that I would never hurt you intentionally, either."

"The only way it could be more obvious is if it were an out-of-control train that was on fire and shooting off fireworks while blaring 'Crazy Train' at stadium-level volumes," I replied, dryly.

"That's a very specific, yet incredibly accurate scenario," Steve laughed.

I let out a little chuckle, or something I hoped wasn't a giggle, and said, "I know, Mr. Morals."

"Is it too late to change my public moniker to Mr. Morals?" Steve asked, smirking.

"Probably," I laughed. "Didn't they already etch 'Captain America' on a bunch of stuff?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Probably, but they can cover it with a new plaque."

"You underestimate the laziness of city officials," I said.

I shoved another piece of chicken in my mouth, watching as Steve gently shook his head and swallowed whatever he was eating.

"I have faith in them," he said. "They just need a nudge to get the ball rolling sometimes."

"Your unrelenting optimism is exhausting," I said, jokingly.

Another chuckle shook his impressive chest as he settled his chopsticks against his palm and set aside the carton he'd been working on emptying. It looked like he was going to switch up dishes like I had. It was only right when you were eating take-out. As he pulled the last box into his lap, he looked up at me through his eyebrows.

"Someone has to see the silver lining," he teased.

"I can see the silver lining just fine, thank you very much," I shot back with faked irritation.

Not looking up from digging around in his carton, he hummed a skeptical "Mhmm."

"I can!" I exclaimed. "For example…"

I paused, pretending to search for something that I actually saw a silver lining in. It quickly turned in to me actually trying to find something positive in a shitty situation, and nothing was coming to me. I knew I had those moments of positivity, but I'd be damned if I could think of a legitimate one right now. Steve looked up at me, raising his eyebrows in humored curiosity as he carefully placed a piece of food on his tongue. His eyes were studying me, waiting patiently as he tried to not pull his full lips into a smile. Gods, he was adorable. If I were the girly, sighing type, I'd have let out one of those longing soughs reserved for ingenues and those village chicks in _Beauty and the Beast_.

"You're cute even when you're being a jerk," I finished.

He quickly swallowed and let out one of those coughing laughs that people did when they were trying to not kill themselves by inhaling food.

"And you're beautiful even when you're cranky," he countered.

"So, all the time, then?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," he replied, smiling. The grin dimmed a little bit and he motioned his head toward the book I'd abandoned in favor of Chinese deliciousness. "What are you reading?"

I grabbed the paperback at my thigh and stretched my arm over the spread of food to hand it to him. After he stabbed his chopsticks into his carton, he slipped the book from my hand and read the summary on the back cover.

"It's about a witch who grapples with all kinds of crazy shit. This is the fourth book in the series, though, so you won't know what the hell's going on if you don't know the rest of the backstory," I replied.

"What's the rest of the backstory?"

"Well, the general backstory is that it's set in a world exactly like our own, except for the fact that humans and supernatural creatures live together in almost-harmony. For most of history, humans were unknowingly living side-by-side with witches, wereanimals, vampires both 'living' and twice dead, elves, pixies, and so forth. Humans were the majority, which was why the supernatural folks were in hiding. Then a genetically altered tomato wiped out half of the humans and you suddenly have fairies literally coming out of the woodwork. They worked out a deal of sorts, and everyone start living together. Then we get to our witchy main character, who is a detective-slash-bounty hunter with a pixy and a living vampire for friends, and they get into all sorts of deadly shenanigans, including going up against super sadistic demons and head vampires," I rapidly explained.

Steve raised his eyebrows at me, his eyes holding a bit of surprise and a lot of incredulity.

"That's just the general backstory?" he asked.

"The cliff notes version," I replied, moving the chicken around in my carton so I could get to the rice.

Steve extended his arm to hand the book back to me, and I paused my rice excavation to place the book back by my right thigh before quickly resuming my digging.

"It sounds interesting," he said without a hint of sarcasm. "You're probably not going to believe this, but I used to love _Frankenstein_ and _Dracula_. I wanted to read H.P. Lovecraft's books, but I never got around to it."

Wait, he liked horror? I stopped moving, the tips of my chopsticks caught between my lips and rice resting on my tongue as I stared at him, utterly shocked. I managed to swallow what little I had in my mouth so I didn't rudely speak with my mouth full, but I couldn't seem to remove the chopsticks from my mouth. This was too awesome for me to do so much as twitch.

"Seriously?" I asked, barely moving my lips around the thin bamboo.

"Yeah," Steve replied, chuckling at my expression as I finally managed to move my hand. "I always like the concept of good and evil. As you might have guessed."

"Had no idea," I mumbled sarcastically. In my normal tone, I asked, "What did you like about _Frankenstein_?"

"To put it simply, everything. I liked that Frankenstein's monster was an intelligent, kind creature who just wanted to be accepted into society and live a normal life, yet he was shunned because he was different. Even Frankenstein didn't accept him. I thought it was an interesting choice to have the creature go from gentle to monstrous. The idea of someone having a complete mental breakdown from being continuously rejected and pushed to their limit was fascinating to me because similar things happen in real life. Not to those same extremes, and generally not by people who seem to be genuinely good, but it does happen. I thought it was an interesting mirror to hold up to society."

"And Dracula?" I asked.

"I liked the group's courage against the unknown. They did everything they could to save Lucy in both life and death, and destroyed her body to keep the rest of the city safe. Even if they were scared, they didn't run, and instead chased a centuries old creature back to his homeland where he was going to try to regroup. The last time he'd had to do that, he was up against the Turkish army. This group of six people were so formidable that a Count, seasoned in war, ran. I also liked how each character was brave or scared in their own way. Jonathan was terrified but kept going for Mina's sake. Mina was scared but she was strong, and she was a very resolute and logical woman. Quincey had seen enough battle to be mostly unfazed. John was rattled, but since he ran an asylum, he was used to seeing some horrifying things. And Van Helsing was a doctor and professor, so he calmed what nerves he had with research. They were written like they were taken directly from the real world rather than being shallow characters. I also thought it was interesting that Stoker wrote Mina as a strong character, since people back then didn't view women as being strong and capable of keeping up with men."

I sat there, listening intently to Steve's every word, the taste of the lemon chicken fading into the background as his words rolled around in my mind. This was why I liked him. He was incredibly intelligent and thoughtful, looking for meanings in words and reading between the lines to find the humanity of the writer tucked between paragraphs, examining the social norms and psychology that they explored within the pages. His mind was extraordinary. Don't get me wrong, he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen with the most impressive body in human history, but his mind was the most wonderful thing about him. An attractive body was pointless if it didn't house an intelligent mind. An intelligent mind that had seemingly figured out that I was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, quizzically.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I just like how your mind works."

I saw that boyish, almost embarrassed smile of his touch his lips before he dipped his head down. When he looked back up at me, my heart decided that beating was unnecessary and tried to stop that useless nonsense. The look in his bright blue eyes was so gentle and loving that it felt like it was plucked right out of a romance movie, and he was focusing every last drop of his adoration on me. Then, to the relief of the rest of my body, a hint of confusion flashed in his eyes, giving my heart the great idea that beating was needed for survival.

"That's what you were thinking?" he asked.

Now it was my turn to be confused.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You looked like you were contemplating life in the universe, not admiring my mind," he teased.

"I was admiring the universe in your mind," I retorted.

A breath of laughter left his chest and he shook his head. That wasn't just a humored laugh, either. I'd some something that he found interesting.

"What?" I asked, echoing him from not five minutes before.

"I never know what's going to come out of your mouth," he replied.

"You've said that before. I thought you were supposed to be good at reading me," I teased.

"I'm the best at reading you," he said earnestly, "but you can't read a blank page. Sometimes you give me very little to go on."

"Force of habit, I guess. You can't exactly let everyone know what you're thinking when you're on a mission. To be fair, though, sometimes I can't read you, either," I said.

Steve grabbed his bottle of water and cracked it open, frowning as he took a sip.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's weird because you have really honest eyes, so you'd think I could always read you like a book," I replied.

He was silent for a moment, taking another drink as thought upon thought flashed behind his eyes. He thought it was rather intriguing that he had honest eyes, that wearing his heart on his sleeve was a good thing because, to him, his veraciousness was tied to his integrity. But he was worried. He knew that being too honest could cause problems and put him and his team in danger, and that bothered him. Distractedly, he twisted the cap back on to his water as a brand-new line of thoughts swirled around his mind.

"See?" I said, smirking. "I can read you right now. You kind of like the idea of wearing your heart on your sleeve, even if it does worry you a little bit."

His eyes widened a bit at that.

"That's impressive," he said.

I realized, quite suddenly, that neither of us had touched our food for several minutes. I didn't think I could eat anything else without either becoming an eggroll or exploding, so I folded my carton closed, leaned over the side of the bed, and shoved it back into one of the plastic bags. I'd take them to the breakroom later so anyone who wanted the leftovers could grab them. I hated it when food went to waste.

"No, it's not," I said dismissively as I sat up. "You do the same thing to me."

Steve, who had started closing the rest of the cartons, grabbed the second bag and started placing items inside.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted with a smirk. "When have you not been able to read me?"

"When you're being tricky and when you're really nervous," I replied, shoving the last carton into the bag and tossing the chopsticks and other detritus into the trash.

"When have I been tricky?" he asked, almost challengingly.

I sat up and looked him square in the eye, pursing my lips in mock annoyance.

"Keyring," I said, simply.

I'd barely gotten the last letter out of my mouth before he started laughing.

"I did say that I'd tricked you, didn't I?" he chuckled.

Tsk tsk. Not even an apology. I gave him the side-eye as I grabbed my water and twisted it open. I pursed my lips even harder, pushing them into a thin line.

Touching the water bottle to my lips, I hummed, "Mhmm."

Steve was completely unperturbed by my apparent distaste for his sneaky ways, seeing as he was grinning at me like he was proud of himself.

"And when I was really nervous?" he asked.

I quickly swallowed my mouthful of water and capped the bottle.

"In the hallways after you watched Barnes' interview and when you asked me out," I replied. So he didn't get caught up on the distressing thoughts of Barnes' potential future, I quickly added, "When can't you read me?"

"Half of the time," he admitted, setting his water bottle to the side.

"Then my mysterious nature is intact," I said, merrily. It turned out me worrying about losing my veil of mysticism was pointless. How lovely.

"It is," he smirked. "I like that about you, though. You're full of surprises."

"An endless supply," I agreed, setting my water bottle on the night stand. "But you're full of surprises, too."

"Like what," he said, frowning curiously.

"Like when you start cracking jokes or when a romantic thought crosses your mind. You have no filter for the romance, buddy," I quipped.

"It is difficult to resist a bouquet of flowers, but in my defense, I am a hopeless romantic," he joked.

I wrinkled my nose at that and dryly responded, "Gross."

I was rewarded with yet another delightfully toe-curling laugh, the kind that made the butterflies in my stomach shake their wings with joy.

"Admit it. You like it," he teased.

"Lies! Lies and slander!" I exclaimed. Unfortunately, my face did not match my words, as I was desperately trying to not giggle like a madwoman. "I like no such thing."

Steve's smile shifted, then, going from jovial to cheerily incredulous. What worried me, though, was the new, steadily growing spark of mischief deep in his eyes. No filter for romance or lust, apparently.

"I don't," I said, doubling down on my earlier witticism.

I should have added something else, something to get him to not do whatever devious thing he was planning, but the butterflies were fluttering too much for me to think straight. What was air, again?

"Mhmm," he hummed.

He lifted himself on to his knees, that spark of wickedness becoming a full-blown inferno, and suddenly I wasn't in the mood for even trying to joke around. The butterflies flapped around my stomach, their bright wings beating against my insides so much that it felt like my stomach was rolling with them. Half of their numbers were made up of lead and the heavy weight that came with a fresh surge of anxiety, while the other half were made of flighty paper and the heart-stopping excitement of sexual tension. Both were so active that it almost hurt. Steve leaned forward, his hand nudging the book at my thigh out of the way so he could prop himself up tantalizing close to me, and the butterflies tried to escape through my mouth.

I swallowed them down hard and somehow managed a normal, wry, "I'm serious."

"Oh, no, I believe you," he said, his dry tone completely unconvincing.

His fingers touched my cheek and he pulled me in to lightly press his lips against mine. My breath caught in my chest, and my right hand grabbed the back of his neck, ending his teasing with a hard kiss that forced my lips open. The bed next to my thigh shifted, and he pushed me backwards, moving to lower me onto the bed. I went, far too willingly for my liking, uncrossing my legs so he could settle between them.

The second my head hit the pillow, the cool tingles that always slid through me when we touched burst into flame until it felt like fire coursed through my veins, arching my back away from the bed as I tried to press my body against his, my skin craving the newfound heat. I needed him. I needed him against me, around me, inside me.

Something in the back of my head was trying to yell at me through the fog of my mind that this was bad, that his lips against mine while he was between my legs would end with me stripping him before we saw our first date, and before I'd told him even one word of basic sex education. It was wrong. I was so ready to give him a hands-on demonstration that it almost hurt, and it was so wrong.

It was so wrong, that I was thankful that I was wearing pants instead of shorts. It is way easier to push shorts to the side than to pull pants off, even if they were paper-thin sweatpants. What I wouldn't give for a pair of jeans right now. At least they took work to remove. At least it was harder to feel a bulge through denim. These stupid pants would let me feel everything. Thankfully, Steve was a smart man and kept his hips away from mine, making sure neither of us had the added temptation of our most intimate areas touching as his mouth fed on mine, but I so desperately wanted him to lower himself between my legs, to finally touch me and release all of this mounting tension, that I almost lifted my body to meet his. Did we have any condoms?

No! No, I had to stop this. We were going to go too far and then I'd hate myself for introducing him to something he wasn't ready for. We couldn't do this. Not yet.

I'd barely lifted my fingers from his hair to push him away when he slipped his tongue between my lips, and I quickly decided that we could go a little bit longer. We weren't going too far, yet. And we'd been so good for so long that we deserved to be a little wicked. It was time for us to be bad. I kissed him back, brushing my tongue against his as he pulled away, deepening the kiss as he came back, forcing his lips open so I could drink him down when he stayed.

Steve's hand found my waist, his skin feeling so warm on my body that it was almost like I had no shirt on. His palm traced a scorching path up my side, pushing the folds up fabric in to my skin as he moved. He slipped his hand beneath my shoulder, propping himself up as he pushed me even closer to him. My hand at his neck wanted to help him and I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, lifting myself to him while I pulled him down. My left hand grabbed the swell of his bicep in my last attempt to be good and not wander below the collar of his shirt.

He kissed me hard, years of abstinence and days of intense sexual tension spilling over in him until he nearly bruised my lips, and I felt his hip brush a line down my thigh as if he meant to grind against me. He was being consumed by passion that he didn't know how to control, and it was going to burn him. It was going to burn me. We had to stop now. My mind made up that our time to be bad has come to an end, I parted his lips one last time before I pulled us both away from the wildfire.

"We need to stop," I muttered against his lips.

He didn't relent, instead humming against my lips and asking a half-hearted "Why?"

"Because it is really hard-" he pressed his lips firmly against mine, quieting my protest for a moment before he broke away again "-to be good right now."

I felt the weight of those words hit him, tensing his muscles under my hands, and I knew that he hadn't considered how far we might go. I don't know if it just hadn't occurred to him, or if he'd had a fleeting thought and pushed it away, but he certainly hadn't thought through what such an intense embrace could bring about, or even what his body had been doing. He'd lost himself, and he knew it.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. I felt him pull away just a little, my arm slipping a few inches as he distanced himself from me. My eyes fluttered open just as he dipped his head down over my shoulder, his soft hair brushing my cheek as a sigh caressed my shoulder. His thumb gently traced my jaw as he took a deep breath to compose himself, and after a moment, he raised up to look me in the eye, nodding ever so slightly in agreement.

"Yeah," he said, softly, sounding disappointed. "Yeah, you're right. We don't want to go too fast."

"Exactly," I said. I tried to subtly take a deep breath to get my heart to stop racing. From Steve's little smirk, I was not successful with the subtle part. I wasn't very successful with the calming down part, either. "I have a lot of shit to tell you before we do anything."

Steve moved his hands out from under my shoulder and away from my neck so he could plant his forearms on either side of my body. In return, I moved my hand from his neck to his chest, discreetly trying to keep him from moving forward again. I did not, however, remove my hand from his bicep. It wasn't necessarily sexual to hold on to his arm, and it sure did help me keep from wandering. It also had the added bonus of feeling the swell of his impressive muscles, but we weren't going to think about that right now. Instead, I very carefully focused on Steve's face rather than how his body felt under my hands, and found that he was quite confused.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like the basics of sex," I replied. "Trust me, you do not want to be immediately thrown into the deep end of that pool."

A bit of the confusion melted away, revealing an odd sense of adoration mixed with a remaining hint of disappointment. I had a feeling that the adoration was multi-faceted, a combination of appreciation that I wanted him to know what he was getting into and of me looking out for him, and just his general like of who I was as a person and a romantic partner.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe we should set up some ground rules until then, so we don't repeat this."

"Good idea," I said. I took another deep breath to further calm my heart, and added, "First thing's first; don't kiss my neck unless you're ready to have sex. It'll be our code word. Code motion? It'll be our code."

Steve gave me a smile filled with curiosity. Why would kissing my neck, of all things, be the signal? Why not taking off my clothes or his clothes, or verbally saying he was ready? That was simple. It was pre-determined, deliberate consent that he would definitely remember, that just so happened to involve my weak spot.

"Let's just say my neck is my on-switch," I said to his silent question.

His eyes widened a touch and he let out a slightly nervous breath of laughter.

"Okay," he said. "Uh…we probably shouldn't lay down. That's when we seem to get really carried away."

"Agreed. We already have the shirt thing down. No teasing and such," I said.

"Shorts, too," he added.

I nodded. He had a good point. Those shorts were pretty tantalizing, what with showing all that leg. Then again, this tank top probably did show a little too much cleavage.

"Tank tops, too?" I inquired.

"Only the ones that aren't…" he paused for a moment, searching for the right words, then nodded toward my chest and said, "like this one."

Meaning low-cut. Yeah, I understood that. Hell, me seeing a little triangle of a man's chest under a slightly unbuttoned shirt was enough to ring my bells even if I didn't know the guy. I couldn't imagine what seeing Steve like that would do to me, and I couldn't imagine what seeing me in a low-cut shirt would do to Steve. It was the ultimate tease.

Okay, that was a lie. The ultimate tease was Steve settled between my legs, his hips hovering just over mine, so close that all I had to do was lift my body half an inch and I would be touching him. And oddly, I hadn't really thought about that since we'd stopped kissing. Huh. Weird.

"You know, it's odd that you're between my legs and we're chatting like it's no big deal," I said, thoughtfully.

And the new look that blossomed on his face that said that he hadn't thought about that, either.

He let out a mildly exasperated sigh and sarcastically said, "You had to mention it."

I couldn't help but chuckle as his expression shifted, and he gave me a flat, dry look as he rolled off of me. In one smooth motion, he pulled himself up and pressed his back against the wall, bending his left knee as if he were keeping a wall between us. Or as if he were hiding something, but we weren't going there. Still smiling, I sat up and scooted back to sit next to him.

"Hey, I thought we were doing pretty well for a few minutes there," I said, grinning.

Whatever irritability, faked or real, that he had left fell away and he smiled at me, shaking his head for good measure at my strangely placed optimism.

"It was more like five minutes," he joked.

"Don't get carried away," I replied with a smirk.

"We already did that," he said.

And just like that, his smile started falling away, and a myriad of thoughts came to replace it with a pensive frown. I looked my question at him, wanting to know what was wrong, what had changed his tune so quickly, but he didn't look at me. A new thread of tension pulled his shoulders tight and straightened his spine a little.

"Since we're on the subject," he said, blindly staring down at my legs, "do you want to start the lesson now?"

Oh. Well, that explained it. At least he was taking the initiative to learn as quickly as possible, despite being visibly uncomfortable. I really didn't blame him for feeling awkward about broaching this subject. He was Irish Catholic, for godssake, the religion that told you masturbation was bad, that lust was born of the devil, and that sex was for the married and was only for procreation. He was brought up to be chaste and to wait until he had a wife, but his new feelings and passions were forcibly steering him in the other direction, and he was having a hard time reconciling that. It was one thing when we were in the thick of it, when the heat of the moment was upon us and sex was easy to have without even thinking about it, when our connection made inhibitions fall away until it almost felt like they'd never existed, but it was another thing entirely to have a conversation about it. It was downright awkward, actually. Especially since he was raised in prudish times and he was with a woman who was the exact opposite of prudish.

But he was, as always, willing to face his fears and push forward. I could help him with that. I just didn't know whether or not I should touch him to make it easier. He would be able to pay attention more if he wasn't fighting his upbringing the entire time I educated him. However, this was probably something he needed to hear and understand without my direct influence. It would make it easier for him, sure, but if he was getting my lasciviousness under the information, he wouldn't really be able to form his own opinion of it all. Right? Sure. I wasn't going to touch him. Well, unless he got too spooked, then I would swoop in and give him some relief while he tried to absorb everything.

"If you're ready," I said, trying to sound casual.

Steve gave me a quick, nervous, yet grateful smile, and said, "I am."

"Okay," I said, settling in to the mattress more. "I'm going to keep this as scientific and blunt as I can. If you need me to stop, tell me so, and if you get too uncomfortable but want to keep going, just touch my hand or something."

Another nod, this time of understanding. I took a deep breath and put myself into Professor Mode. I had broached sensitive topics like this before with him, like gay people and my own first-time experience, so this was nothing new. Except that I was more than likely preparing him to have sex with me, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Well, that wasn't exactly true. My body and the spellbound part of my mind wanted to go full-force right now, but my anxiety was shaking its head so vigorously that it was getting whiplash. But none of that was unhelpful. So, we were going to approach this like he was asking me for advice on how to have sex with another girl. And I wasn't going to look at him because that would make it harder to distance myself. Yeah. Let's hope that worked.

"I'm only going to cover the basics, but just know that there is so much more to discuss beyond this," I started. "Alright. Let's start with basic foreplay. Fingering. Very simple stuff. That just means that someone inserts one or more fingers into a woman's vagina, and moves in and out. People typically try to stimulate the G-spot with their fingers and clitoris with their thumb while they're doing this. You should also look up anatomy to make all of this easier to understand.

"Handjob is next. It's just stroking the penis up and down, stimulating multiple sensitive areas in the process. Nothing fancy. Fellatio, aka blowjob, is sucking on the penis. Cunnilingus, aka going down on a girl, is licking the vagina. There are various techniques for both that I will not go into. Then there's sex, which is insertion, generally speaking, of the penis into the vagina. Then there are the basic positions: missionary, which is the girl on her back and the guy on top; cowgirl, aka girl on top; and doggy, which is the girl on her knees and the guy behind her. Almost all other positions are just variations of those three. As for gay people having sex, same thing, only with appropriate variations in everything for anatomical purposes.

"And with everything, you want to be careful of STD's and possible pregnancy, so contraceptives and regular STD screenings are a must. The only contraceptive that prevents STD's are condoms, but you have to know how to use them correctly or there's about a fifteen percent failure rate. Condoms are also one of the few things a man can use on his end to prevent pregnancy. The other that I know of is pulling out, and that doesn't have nearly as good of a success rate. Women, however, have a bunch of shit that they can use because it's way easier to stop one egg rather than millions of sperm. So, women have birth control pills and implants, female condoms, spermicides, and getting their tubes either tied or removed."

I paused for a mere second, letting my brain catch up to my speeding mouth. Yes, for once, I actually wanted my mouth to act on its own accord. If I stopped to think about what I was saying and who I was saying it to, I would have stumbled over myself like a socially inept, shy schoolgirl talking about sex toys with her crush. I never in my life thought that I would have to give sex lessons to anyone, let alone a virgin, let alone a virgin who was interested in me, let alone a virgin who was interested in me who was Steve fucking Rogers. It wasn't fucking easy. I was so much better at show-and-tell, but I just couldn't do that to him. What I could do, now that I was done with the hard part, was look at him.

I finally glanced over at Steve to find his cheeks bright red, his mind overwhelmed, and his eyes filled with questions. He was still blankly staring down at my legs, trying to absorb all of the information I'd unloaded on him. It was time to wrap this up and give the poor man a break. Even if it had been only five or so minutes.

"Now, all of this is online, including a ton of other shit because I'm only scratching the surface here. I'm not even going in to the various kinds of foreplay, erogenous zones, anatomy, dirty talk, mild kinks to full-blown fetishes, sex toys, and hundreds of different positions. But if you do go to research any of this, which I highly recommend, do not watch porn as a source of information. It's so inaccurate it hurts. Go to pages run by doctors and clinical sexologists since they know what the fuck they're talking about. I recommend this Youtube channel called Sexplanations. It's run by a clinical sexologist, and it's very easy-going, fun, and informative, and it doesn't feel dirty."

He blinked hard and took a deep breath in an attempt to cleanse himself of the shock of being exposed to so many obscene things at once, and said, "I'll do that."

"Do yourself a favor, though, and wait until you've processed everything," I said.

And he was going to need a bit of time to process. His eyes were a touch too wide and sightlessly roving around our legs as thoughts flooded his mind. He looked… well, he looked spooked. What had I said I was going to do if that happened? Oh, right.

I leaned over and planted a quick, comforting kiss on his reddened cheek. When I pulled back, the glaze over his eyes had broken and he was trying to blink away his embarrassment. It didn't seem to be working very well. I rested a quieting hand to his shoulder, silencing all of his swirling thoughts with that familiar, peaceful haze. He looked up at me, his blue eyes finally clear of all that worried him about this troublesome lesson, with just a hint of confusion as to why I'd kissed him remaining.

"You did really well," I said, softly.

"Thank you," he replied, still looking as if he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

"You're welcome," I said, flashing him a sweet smile. "But I think that's enough for today. Any more and your head might explode."

I gave his shoulder a quick pat and slid away from him, moving toward the edge of the bed. As my feet hit the floor, Steve's voice filled the air.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning up," I replied, standing up. I stooped down to slide my fingers through the plastic loops in the bags, and heard him take a breath to protest. "No. You bought the food, so I'll take out the trash."

"That feels like we're keeping score," he said, a frown evident in his tone.

The other thing that was evident was how much he was trying to regain a sense of normalcy after having his chastity turned on its head. Arguing about who did what was our usual, and this let him settle back in to his world more comfortably as he dealt with the very uncomfortable feeling of being ripped from his comfort zone. It was kind of cute, seeing him squirm a little. Sometimes you could forget that the seemingly perfect people were human, and watching him be uncomfortable just confirmed that he wasn't, in fact, perfect.

Keeping my head down so he couldn't see me smirking at my own thoughts, I rummaged my free hand through my duffel to grab my toiletry bag. While I was out there putting away food, I might as well get ready for bed. Not that I would be laying down now, seeing as how it wasn't all that late, but it would save me time and a trip to the bathroom. Plus, I really didn't want my breath to smell like lemon chicken for the next few hours.

"We're not," I said, straightening up to look at him. He still had a hint of pink at his cheeks, but he seemed to be slowly returning to normal. "It's just considerate to trade off duties when you can."

"But it's not a requirement," Steve said, making it a firm statement rather than a question.

"No, it's not," I agreed. Lifting the plastic bags of trash for emphasis, I added, "I'll be right back."

Before he could say another word, I turned around and walked through the open partition door. The second I was out of his sight and the heavy gaze of those eyes were off of me, my mind started to wander.

Somehow, I'd managed to not destroy every semblance of his sexual purity tonight, and I'd stopped our make-out session before we went too far, despite me wanting to literally rip his clothes off. I was proud of myself. It was difficult, telling him no when his body was ready to rid itself of its virginity, and when I was eager to help him in such an endeavor, but his mind had no idea what it all meant. If he'd told me at the house that he knew what sex was and how it worked, I know I wouldn't have stopped tonight. I wouldn't have even thought of it. I'd have let that fire burn us to the ground.

But now, with the cage opened and his mind free to explore sex as much as he wanted, I had a feeling we'd be burning much sooner than either of us expected. I'd probably just shot myself in the foot with my little lesson. I just hope I didn't bleed all over the sheets when we finally rolled around in them.


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 53

My feet padded over the cold tile floor as I walked back to the room, and I wished I'd had the forethought to wear socks. Then my feet would be warm and I could slide all over the polished floor like I was ten again. Instead, I had to settle for the boring action of walking down the hallway. Once I made it back to the room, I went through the polite routine of knocking and waiting for the okay to enter, then slipped in when Steve's muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

Once again, Steve's bed was untouched, the sheets pulled so tight that I thought the seams might rip if I dared sit on top of them. I turned my head to look through the open partition door and found Steve himself sitting on the edge of my bed, his feet flat on the floor, and my book in his hand. Either he'd tried to distract himself from our sex conversation by skimming the pages about witches or he'd already processed everything and was just trying to pass the time while he waited for me. Either way, he looked far more collected than he had when I'd left.

"Couldn't make heads or tails of it, could you?" I asked, walking over to my duffel bag to drop my toiletry case inside.

"Not in the slightest," he replied with a smile. He turned the book over in his hand to stare at the back cover. "I caught something about a splat gun and closed the book."

"Yeah," I chuckled, "that confused me, too. It's a paintball gun."

"That still doesn't make sense to me since I haven't read the book," he replied.

"It's good that you admit your downfalls," I quipped.

He gave me one of those looks that said he was pretending to be unamused, and said, "Very funny."

"I know. I'm hilarious," I grinned, pushing around my clothes so I could zip my bag. Straightening up, I asked, "Are you staying over here tonight?"

"If you'll let me," he replied. "We can head your nightmares off at the pass."

"Okay," I said.

I took a step toward the bed, pausing for a moment in my stride when Steve's eyes went wide with shock.

"You're not going to argue?" he asked, staring at me as I closed the gap between us.

"Nope."

"I always thought the world would end with hellfire and a seven-headed beast. I never imagined it would end like this," he teased.

I laughed and gave his shoulder a playful shove. He leaned away, as if I could actually move his massive body with what he had to consider a mere tap. I climbed onto the bed next to him and laid down so the top of my head touched the edge of the mattress, my hair spilling over the side. I figured I'd be nice and let him relax where he was for a while. He looked comfortable in his spot.

"Honestly, it's been pretty nice, not having nightmares for half the night. It'd be even better to not have them at all," I replied, nonchalantly.

Man, who'd have ever thought that I'd be completely calm while talking about the things that scared the fuck out of me every night? Not me, that's for goddamn sure. Even Steve looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not that he wasn't visibly proud that I was opening up in some capacity, but boy, was it a shocker.

"And to not almost die," he added.

A plethora of emotions mingled behind his eyes, each of them seeming to talk to each other so they moved and morphed into something new, their evolutions happening so fast that I couldn't catch even half of them before they changed. Concern was the only one I could pin down the entire time.

"Also, yes," I replied.

"I'm glad you came to that decision," he said, diplomatically.

Of all the times to be tactful, now did not feel like one of them. Okay, maybe it did, because he knew I tended to be a ticking time-bomb on this shit, but he usually stealth-walked on eggshells only when he wanted to say something he knew I didn't want to hear. Ooooh!

"You want to know what I dream about, don't you?" I asked.

I tried to sound curious rather than accusing. People asking about my thoughts and feelings usually felt like an invasion, like people were trying to intrude upon my emotions and would ultimately use them against me in the most heinous ways. I had to remind myself that he only wanted to help, and despite me not wanting to admit it, I needed help. What was more, I needed to communicate with him. I could have my secrets and mysteries, but something like this had to be out in the open, or things would start to crumble. I didn't want that. Even if Zeus did say we were destined to be together, things could still go awry. I may gag on destiny, but I liked Steve too much to let things even begin to fall apart.

"Of course, I do," he replied, softly, "but only if you want to tell me."

"I don't, but I need to," I said, almost instantly.

He sucked in a breath at that, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes became almost completely consumed with worry. I could see a layer of pride deep within his blue depths, but I knew that he was afraid that I might withdraw from him yet again once I bared my soul, or that I might not be able to tell him the truth at all. He knew that this was incredibly hard for me, and he hated that he couldn't make it easier without manipulating my emotions. Even if he wanted to, his morality wouldn't allow it, but that didn't mean it wasn't tempting to help. I saw the muscles in his forearms tense, and heard the mattress under his hands strain and creak as he gripped the side of the bed to keep himself from touching me.

"Okay," he said with a careful nod.

"Okay," I repeated.

I could do this. I was a badass agent, a person who ran into a field of bullets without flinching. I could tell him my nightmares. No big deal. It was only completely insane. But he's understanding and totally wouldn't call the men in white coats holding a hug-me jacket who would pump me full of the good drugs.

"Okay," I said again. "This is going to sound completely banana sandwiches, but bear with me."

"It won't," he said, confidently.

Oh, what a sweet summer child. He'd learn soon enough. I took a deep breath, broke my mind's connection with my tongue, and let my mouth do all the work since that seemed to be the only way to get me to open up emotionally.

"I dream about you. Katie. Happiness. And all of it ending bloody," I said. I raked my fingers through my hair, holding my forearm up so it partially blocked my view of Steve, and continued. "Almost every night since I met you, that's what it's been. And I haven't wanted to tell you because it sounds insane. How in the hell do you tell someone you just met that you think you could be so happy with them that you keep having dreams about your dead sister murdering them because you don't think you deserve happiness? That kind of talk will get you thrown into a padded cell."

A small voice in the back of my mind said that I'd told him something like this already. But when would I have told him this? Maybe when I was sleep-deprived or during an argument? Had I told him at all? I didn't remember. Fuck it. I was telling him now.

I heard Steve take another deep breath as I tried to remember what I may have told him, and I could almost feel him plucking my words from the air and absorbing them, his mind trying to come up with a sentence that wouldn't set me off or make me close up.

"It's not insane," he said, gently. "With what Zeus told us and with what you went through, it makes sense. Besides that, you can't control your dreams, and I don't expect you to. Maybe somewhere down the line, even if we hadn't met, you might have still had those dreams."

"Maybe," I said, frowning. "But these kind of dreams, with her killing other people, has never happened before. She's only ever killed me. Which is why I freaked out."

"I can understand why you would, but it doesn't mean you're insane. And these dreams don't mean that you don't deserve happiness. I hope you know that."

"I don't," I admitted.

Steve leaned over, then, his hand grabbing my wrist to pull my arm away from my face, forcing me to look into his oh-so sincere eyes. Apparently, he only wanted me to be out from under his influence when I was opening up to him, but now it was time for me to listen, and he needed his words to sink in to my thick skull without me trying to bat them away.

"Then I'll keep telling you until you believe it. Dani, you can't blame yourself for Katie's death. You didn't know what was going to happen, or that things would go bad so quickly. You did what you could with the information that you had, and you can't blame yourself for thinking that what you were doing would work. You can't blame yourself for not knowing the future. You can't blame yourself into thinking you don't deserve happiness."

I stared into his eyes, read the truth in them, felt the calm that he poured into me, and I still didn't believe him. I could have, I should have, told the government to fuck itself. She was my sister, and I never should have risked her life for some stupid, ill-fated mission that everyone should have known would never work. They were terrorists, and they would have killed her no matter what. I should have just gone in guns blazing. I opened my mouth to spout out a passionless version of my usual argument when Steve stopped me, his hand pressing my arm into his chest to quiet me.

"You broke your uncle's jaw because he blamed you, so why would you ever blame yourself?" he asked.

I opened my mouth again to present a case in favor of my self-loathing, but I couldn't think of one good counter-point.

"That's…a really good point, actually," I muttered.

"Even if it wasn't, this is: Katie would want you to be happy, no matter what happened. You two were close, right?"

"Very," I replied.

"Then why wouldn't she want you to be happy?" he asked. I think he saw something on my face, something I could barely feel within my own mind, because he instantly added, "Do not say it's because you think you got her killed. From everything you told me, Katie was not a vindictive person."

Nope. That was me.

"She wasn't," I replied.

"Then she would want you to be happy," he said, firmly.

Well, I had to give him credit. He probably wasn't wrong. Katie had a big heart. Even if someone had stomped all over her, she would forgive them within the day. She wouldn't forget, because she wasn't an idiot, but she moved on and wished them happiness. Meanwhile, I was plotting their demise in her favor. Gods help me, I was projecting my vengefulness on to her memory. I was plotting my own demise, and I'd be damned if I wasn't doing a good job of carrying it out in her name.

I realized I'd cast my eyes downward while I was thinking, as if I had been trying to see my feet, and slid my eyes back up to lock them on Steve's.

"I guess you're right," I said.

"I am right," he corrected. "You deserve happiness. Remember that, okay?"

I smiled that time, and for the first time since Katie died, I believed someone when they said it wasn't my fault. Fitting that it was Steve that finally got through to me. Fitting that he did it so quickly, too.

"Okay," I replied, hoping it sounded as genuine as it was.

A big, proud smile blossomed on his face, and I knew I'd succeeded.

"Thank you for telling me," he said. He switched his hands on my arm and cupped my cheek in his right hand, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

"Thank you for listening. For some crazy reason, I value your advice," I said, jokingly. I was in desperate need of levity after all that soul-baring.

"Probably because you think I'm smart," he grinned, clearly aware of what I was doing. He moved his hand from my cheek to press it into the mattress next to my head.

"You are smart," I said. "Although putting up with me is a dumb move, but no one can be Einstein all the time."

"I don't know about that," he said, thoughtfully. "Not to brag, but I think it's one of my smarter decisions to put up with you. There's never a dull moment. Besides, you said you wanted to keep me. I have to stick around now."

"There's got to be a hill somewhere around here that you can run to," I mumbled.

"If there is, I hope I never see it," he smirked.

"But what if it's a really nice hill? Like, the best hill around? People come from all over to see this hill," I said.

"It's not worth it. Face it, kid. I'm sticking around," he smirked.

I gave him a weird look at that, one that was half confused frown and half smile. Basically, it was a funky smirk.

"When did you become Humphrey Bogart?" I asked.

He let out a breathy laugh and replied, "About a year ago, I think. I was an interesting transformation. I own a fedora and a trench coat now."

"Does this only happen during the full moon?" I asked.

"Yes. I am werewolf Humphrey Bogart. I was bitten by a copy of The Maltese Falcon," he joked. He lifted his hand away from the bed next to me and let go of my arm to point to a little scar on the inside of his index finger. "Right here."

Holding back a giggling fit, I grabbed his hand, folding his finger down so I could cling to his closed fist.

I made the most exaggerated, sarcastically sympathetic face I could, and said, "Oh, you poor baby. That must've been terrible for you."

"It was," he said, just barely managing to keep a straight face. "I'm traumatized."

"I can tell, what with the smiling and such," I said in a sickly-sweet, mock-compassionate tone.

I broke out a smile of my own, finally letting the giggle I'd held in my chest roll from my lips. He grinned back, ducking his head as he chuckled, and as he lifted his head, his shoulders still shaking, he slipped his hand out of mine so he could prop himself over me again. I let my hands fall to my chest before I decided it would be more fun to touch his wrist and run the tips of my fingers over his skin. My left hand found his body, and my thumb traced a line up the inside of his arm. His laughter quickly faded into a content smile. Then, something flashed behind his eyes, furrowing his brow in curiosity.

"Have you ever seen The Maltese Falcon?" he asked.

"Nope," I replied.

"Then we're watching it together," he said.

"Are you trying to 1940's geekify me?" I asked, squinting at him.

"Yes," he stated simply. "Geekifying is a two-way street in this relationship. Before you know it, you'll be quoting Gone with the Wind and Grand Hotel."

"Why, Mr. Butler," I said in my best Old South accent. I lifted my free hand from my chest to dramatically fan my face while I blinked like a timid ingenue. "You're givin' me the vapors."

A laugh burst from Steve's chest, throwing him forward over me until his hair was a few inches from brushing my cheek. He was so close I could smell mint and sandalwood. And of course, he was being infectious and adorable, so I had to start laughing, too. It was impossible not to, really.

After a few moments, he pushed himself back up and flashed a knee-weakening grin.

"That was a really good accent," he said.

"Thank you," I replied. "Maybe we can watch The Maltese Falcon tomorrow."

"No," he said, casually, "I have something else planned for us tomorrow."

Well, that was news to me! I stared at him with intense suspicion, my face clearly asking what the hell he was talking about.

"It's a surprise," he said.

I narrowed my eyes then. What was he up to?

"You'll find out tomorrow," he replied.

If I'd had any lingering doubts that he could read me, they would have been instantly destroyed. With napalm. I don't think even my own parents could have figured out exactly what I was thinking. I mean, I wasn't making it a secret, but literally everyone else I knew would just ask me a confused "what?"

"I told you I'm the best at reading you, didn't I?" he asked with a knowing smirk.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," I said.

I gave his shoulder a playful shove and moved to sit up. He moved away, being so kind as to pretend that it was my push that had forced him to straighten his spine. He turned toward me as I ran a hand through my hair, bringing his leg onto the bed so he wasn't twisting his body in an unnatural position to see my face.

"I think you kind of like it," he teased.

"I think that you think I like it," I replied, saucily.

Maybe I could get him to do that whole long stream of words that you have to really think about so they ended up making sense. That was always a fun thing to watch and do, especially when people started stammering as they tried to figure out the next word.

"That is one rabbit hole we are not going down," he stated.

"Dammit," I muttered. Back in my normal tone, I asked, "When are our plans starting tomorrow?"

He thought about that for a moment, as if he were still trying to come up with the full plan in his mind, which I found incredibly odd since he had a reputation for cranking out elaborate and effective plans within a matter of minutes.

"Late afternoon," he said.

"Then what are you doing for the rest of the day?" I asked. I had an idea. It was what he did every day since we'd found Barnes.

"Going to see Bucky." There it was. "Work out. Get everything ready."

"Get what ready?" I asked.

It wasn't my sneakiest moment, but I thought it would be against my nature to not try at least one more time to figure out what he was plotting. Steve wasn't having it.

He gave me a chastising look, one that told me I should know better, and said, "I'm not going to tell you."

"Dammit. Just a hint, then," I said, a mere touch of desperation in my tone. I hated not knowing things.

"Nope. If I give you a hint, somehow, you'll figure it out," he replied.

I pursed my lips at his unwavering ability to keep his secrets, and wholeheartedly said, "Fuck!"

"You made a valiant effort," Steve laughed.

"Or five," I corrected.

"I admire your dedication," he teased.

"Yours is equally impressive," I sighed, resigned to my fate of not knowing a thing.

"Thank you," he said. "Since you won't have to figure out what I have planned, what are you going to do tomorrow?"

"Stalk you so I can figure out what you're planning," I joked. "No, but seriously, I'm probably going to work out and catch up on Supernatural. I'm almost done with season eleven."

Confusion, which he always managed to make adorable, furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes.

"Is that a television show?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, smiling.

"With eleven seasons?"

"Twelve. I'm just a few episodes behind, is all."

"What's it about, that it's been on for twelve years?"

"Well, it's more the fan base that's allowed it to keep-" I stopped when his still-beetled eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. I was jumping the gun, apparently. "Okay, super basic premise. Two brothers drive around the country hunting and killing supernatural creatures that go bump in the night."

"And the regularly basic premise?" he asked.

"We would be here for a year-and-a-half," I said, simply.

Steve's chin dipped in a small nod, his lips once again turning up at the corners.

"Let's not do that, then," he said.

"But that doesn't mean we're not going to watch it together," I added.

His smile got bigger, then quickly faltered as a new thought crossed his mind.

"I'm going to have to introduce you to a lot in order to catch up with you," he said.

"We're going to spend so much time on the couch it's not even funny. You have…what? Thirty-some-odd years or more of pop culture to show me and I have seventy to show you? So much couch time."

"Well," he said, his tone gaining a hint of suggestiveness, "not all of our time will be spent on the couch."

I raised an eyebrow at him. Was he saying he thought we'd be spending a lot of time in bed? Was he hardcore flirting right now, even after the make-out session and sex talk?! Sweet mercy, was it possible to force this cage closed again? My heart and libido couldn't take this back and forth of innuendoes much longer, so could we just lock this sexy beast away for a bit longer? Please?

"There's music, too, and I would like to dance with you again," he continued.

Nice save. I was impressed. Still reeling from his new flirtatious boldness, but impressed.

"That was pretty slick," I said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

His eyes went a bit wide, as if he were shocked that I'd accuse him of being tricky. His eyes were also so honest that he really shouldn't draw attention to them when he was lying. The look I gave him was so incredulous that even a seasoned politician would have backtracked in their lie, but Steve just laughed and held up a hand as if to stop me from once again telling him how horrible he was at lying.

"I know," he grinned. "I'm a bad liar."

I pursed my lips into a thin line and nodded. "It's probably the only thing you're almost completely incapable of doing."

"I can think of a couple of other things," he said, bringing back that touch of indecency.

What exactly did _that_ one mean?! That he was incapable of not being sexual, or not wanting to touch me, or not wanting to stop being raunchy? I was officially claiming Zeus as a dickbag for adding so much passion to his fucking spell. Universe help me.

"I know what you're doing," I said, accusingly, narrowing my eyes. I made it humorous, of course, because despite me wanting to put a lid on this, it was kind of funny to watch an alleged goody-two-shoes be lascivious.

"I can do a lot of things," he said, not letting up at all.

"Stop it!" I exclaimed with a laugh.

I reached my hand out to push his shoulder again, only this time he countered by grabbing my wrist and pulling me into him, placing me square in his lap as he draped my arm across his shoulder, his free hand going around my waist to keep me steady. My right hand found his chest so I could keep myself from toppling into him. It would be just my luck to send us both flying off the bed. He released my arm to push my fallen hair out of my eyes, and to reveal that he was smiling like he'd won something. Seriously, he was a grown man. He was not supposed to be this cute.

"Like that," he quipped.

"Humphrey Bogart would never do that," I said, dryly.

"It's not a full moon," he pointed out.

"Yeah, when is that coming around again?" I teased. "Is it soon?"

"It is not," he replied, "so you're stuck with me until then."

"Oh," I muttered. "Well. I guess I'll have to settle in and wait then. I'll stay right here. Won't move an inch. Hope you don't mind."

Steve sat there, patient as a lion as I spouted my nonsense, waiting for the right time to pounce. Or, in this case, flip. His arm around my waist tightened, and with one quick motion, he twisted his body and slapped my back against the mattress, landing us in the middle of the bed. I managed to not let out a squeak of surprise, but my hands did end up clinging to his shirt like I was trying to keep him from tossing me off a building. Not my proudest moment. Propping himself up on his right elbow, he slipped his arm out from under me to settle it into the bed at my left side, holding himself above me just enough to not crush my hip. Well, at least this time he wasn't between my legs; those were out to the side because of how I'd been sitting in his lap, which was to say, sideways.

I got my hands to release their death grip on his shirt, flopping them down next to my head. I felt a chuckle building in my chest and quickly covered my mouth with the back of my hand to stifle the incoming laugh. Regaining control of myself, dulling my expression until it looked like I was utterly unimpressed.

"That was rude," I sighed, my tone flat. "I was very comfortable."

"If we stayed there, you would have fallen asleep in my lap again," Steve replied, still smiling at me.

"Exactly," I replied. "And now I'm disappointed."

His face changed, taking on the same mock sympathy that I'd had for him earlier. Sarcastically, he replied, "I'm so sorry."

"You're really not," I countered.

"Next time, we'll stay there. It'll be like we're back at the house."

I winced at that, a groan rolling up my throat. That was definitely not one of my proudest moments. I'd known him for a few days and ended up literally sleeping on him, officially becoming the most unprofessional, non-badass person I knew. Oh, so much shame tied to that memory.

"Let's not bring that up," I said.

"It was cute," Steve said, apparently trying to make me feel better. It wasn't going to work this time around, pal.

"It was not cute," I argued. "It was-"

"Adorable," he interrupted.

I screwed up my face at that one, my distaste clear as day as I pulled out the most humorously belligerent, exaggeratedly deep voice I could muster.

"No."

"Endearing," Steve offered.

"Lies," I said in my normal voice.

"Made me happy that you would choose to be vulnerable with me."

"I was just tired," I argued.

"No, you're tired right now," he responded.

Wait, how did he know that? I didn't feel tired at all. Well, not mentally anyway. Well, not very much. Okay, fine, I was kind of tired, but how did he know that when I barely knew that?

"It doesn't mean I wasn't tired then," I pointed out.

"Then you were…" he paused, searching for the right words, then said, "in need of comfort. For lack of better term."

"I need the comfort of sleep, and you're a surprisingly good bed."

"You needed both because you had nightmares."

"And because you scared the hell out of me."

"Then you admit you needed comfort," he said with a small nod. "Thank you for finally agreeing with me."

"No, I didn't! You…"

It was my turn to pause this time, only my hesitation was filled with mild, semi-real annoyance that he was outsmarting me. I must me tired if he was winning the battle of wits. Sure. We were going to go with that, and not the fact that he was intelligent. Make me feel better, brain.

"You know, it's almost impossible to argue with you because you just have to be right all the damn time," I finished.

"Not all the time. I'm wrong about some things," he replied, his shoulders somehow managing a shrug.

"Oh, you're wrong alright," I mumbled. Wrong in the head. Or so I was pretending.

A smirk pulled at the corner of Steve's mouth, his eyebrows lifting a bit on his forehead as he leveled a teasing, yet accusing look at me.

"What was that?" he asked.

"What was what?" I asked, innocently.

"I'm wrong?" he asked.

"At least you admit it," I quipped.

"There was a question mark on the end of that sentence," he said.

"I didn't hear it."

"What do they call that now?" he asked, thoughtfully. "Selective listening?"

"What? I'm sorry. I wasn't listening," I said dryly.

My casual façade didn't last very long, as I almost immediately grinned up at him. He instantly mirrored me, his smirk brightening to a grin as he shook his head. I loved it when I drove him to speechlessness.

Apparently, though, he wanted to fill this silence with a sexy action, because he leaned down to kiss me. I mean, I didn't blame him. It was a good course of action when your mouth wasn't doing anything else and you were with someone you were attracted to. But…we had a new rule.

I raised my hand to his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, making him look down at me with confused eyes and frowning lips. It took less than a second for his eyes to close in realization, a sigh slipping from his lips as he dipped his head in what had to be exasperation at his own apparently selective memory and the inability to finish the task he'd started. Poor guy. Poor me, seeing as how I wanted it, too.

"Just one," he pleaded, lifting his eyes back to mine.

"That would break the rules, Gryffindor," I said, narrowing my eyes in reprimand.

He frowned and pursed his lips, muttering, "I'm rethinking those rules, already."

Without warning, he slipped his arm under my waist and sat me up, pulling me into his body as he cupped my cheek and captured my lips. He was having a lot of fun catching me off guard tonight. Not that I minded, especially since it meant that he kept pressing me into him.

It did worry me a little bit, though, as it seemed like he was becoming bolder, taking every chance he could to release the sexual tension between us, bringing his lips to mine whenever the mood struck him. And it struck him often. It seemed that he was not own coming to terms with sexuality, but was fully embracing it. I may have not wanted to, or I may have not wanted to so soon, but I was taking his innocence. I mean, was proud of him for listening to me and growing as a person and a sexual being, but it made things that much more difficult for me when I was trying to tone down my own wantonness. The upside was that, when we did end up finally having sex, he probably wouldn't be too shy about it. Sometimes being a bad influence was both a blessing and a curse.

I pushed all those thoughts further behind the haze and kissed him back, both ecstatic and terrified that he was progressing so quickly. I pulled away before he could deepen the kiss, knowing full well where that road could lead.

"We can reevaluate them after our date," I said.

I raked my fingers through his hair, pushing back the strands that had fallen forward each time he'd hovered over me. I no longer minded his hair being messy, because it was incredibly sexy on him, but I just really wanted to touch his hair. It was one of my things, apparently. And Steve seemed to like it, too, seeing as how adoration bloomed on his face and glimmered in his eyes as my hand fell to the swell of his shoulder. Well, mostly adoration. He had a glint of something in his eye, some knowledge that I wasn't privy to, that I'd been trying to pull from him. So, he had a secret about our date, huh? Wait, was that secret the same secret as what we were doing tomorrow? Oh, that sneaky bastard.

"Deal," he said, managing to sound as innocent as he seemed.

I squinted at him questioningly, and asked, "What are you up to?"

"You know I can't tell you," he replied.

"Tell me and we can break one rule," I offered.

He didn't even consider my offer before giving me a firm, "No."

"Son of a bitch," I murmured, petulantly.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" he asked.

"I will. Maybe. Probably not," I said.

He gave me a slightly exasperated look, one marked with obvious playfulness, and said, "Go to sleep and stop bugging me about it."

"How do you know I'm that tired?" I asked, challengingly.

"Your eyes," he replied, simply. "The more tired you get, the more you look like you want to hurt someone."

Damn, he was good.

"Well, you're not wrong," I said. Jokingly, I added, "I could really go for a fist fight right now."

"That is the best indication that you need sleep," he pointed out. He pulled me in for another kiss, this one being just a quick peck before he let me go and started moving away. I let my hands fall away as he added, "Get some rest."

Boy, our conversations were changeable. Even so, he wasn't wrong that I needed sleep, as I was rapidly becoming more tired as the seconds ticked on, so I scooted toward my side of the bed to prepare myself for blissful slumber. But me being tired didn't mean that I didn't have a few more witticism to toss out.

"You're just trying to get rid of me," I accused.

"I'm trying to get rid of your questions," he corrected.

"I'm one big question," I joked.

He slid his legs off the side of the bed, tugging his shirt straight as he stood up. Clothes didn't tend to stay in place if you kept flipping people. Meanwhile, I slid my legs under the covers and started settling in.

"You staying up?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, turning to look at me. "I have a lot of research to read. Will the light keep you up?"

Oh, yeah. He probably hadn't been able to read everything that I sent him. It wasn't my fault that there was a ton of psychological research that applied to Barnes. Not that Steve seemed to mind.

"Nah. I'll be dead to the world in five minutes. Tops. Do your thing," I replied, waving a dismissive hand at him.

"Alright," he said, clicking on the bedside lamp. "Goodnight."

"Night," I replied as I grabbed the hem of the sheets.

I pulled the comforter up to my shoulders as he moved toward his side of the room to do whatever he was going to do, and turned my back to him, curling up as I went. Sleep pulled at me the instant I closed my eyes. Apparently, I was way more tired than I felt. The light beyond my eyelids, save the soft glow of a single lightbulb, went out, and my mind followed the darkness. I was already halfway gone when the bed shifted with Steve's weight, the quick tapping of computer keys piercing my mind as he typed in what had to be his password. A new weight fell on my thigh as soon as the keys fell silent, and the soothing tingles from his touch skated up my body and carried me down into sleep.

I felt myself becoming aware of the world around me, my mind noticing my breathing, the soft light streaming through my eyelids, the hard pillow under my head, the sheet that had slipped down to my waist, the heaviness that held the sheet in place, the solid body behind me, and the uneven breath that shifted my hair. Steve was behind me, and he was awake. As confirmation, his arm at my waist moved and his fingers traced a path up my forearm until he wrapped his hand around mine, lacing our fingers together.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still holding a thread of sleep.

"G'morning," I mumbled.

I sounded like...well, like I'd literally just woken up. And seeing as how I'd just woken up, I was refusing to open my eyes. Maybe I could go back to sleep if I kept my eyes closed. Before my body could take my mind up on that offer, the mechanical growl of whirring blades sliced through the otherwise quiet morning. Well, now I knew why I was awake. Someone was mowing the grass, and it sounded like they were going to ride right in front of our window.

I groaned my displeasure and shook Steve's hand from mine. Apparently, the peaceful haze wasn't enough to completely filter out my morning crabbiness, which said just how angry I could be in the early hours of the day. That, or it was so ingrained in me to be a bitch in the morning that I was doing it on impulse. Either way, I turned around in my spot, Steve's arm lifting just enough for me to move, and curled into his body so I could attempt to escape both the sound of the lawnmower and first-degree murder charges.

"I'm going to kill the lawnmower and make them watch," I muttered into his chest.

His arm settled back on my side, but his hand found the spot between my shoulder blades, cuddling me into him as he let out a tired chuckle.

"You'll probably have to pay for a new lawnmower if you do that," he said, keeping his voice low.

"It'll be worth it to see the horror on the person's face," I said.

I guess he didn't want to argue, or was just as tired as I was, because he left it at that. The sound of the lawnmower faded away, leaving us both in silence, and leaving me to drift off into sleep again. Blessed sleep. I felt Steve's arm at my back to start to go limp and felt his breath in my hair start to even out. The world around me faded. And then it came screaming back around me as the lawnmower passed two feet in front of the fucking window again. This time, though, it was Steve who sleepily protested, his arm tightening against my body only to release me a moment later.

"Good to know you can get annoyed in the morning, too," I mumbled.

"I don't think I've ever slept so well in my life, and they're making it impossible to do that," he replied.

"Death to electric lawnmowers. Buy them a push one and make them get a workout," I said as the sound of the offending machine died away once more.

"The grounds are too big for that," Steve pointed out.

"Hire three more guys," I countered.

Well, seeing as how it was going to be impossible to get back to sleep, I might as well get up. I summoned the willpower to open my eyes and found Steve's chest a few inches away, and, to what shouldn't have been my surprise, I found that I was using his arm as a pillow, which explained why my fluffy marshmallow of fabric and stuffing had become a rock overnight. Not that I minded. I unfurled my arms from against my chest and put a hand on the bed to scoot me further away from Steve so I could see his face. His hair was a mess, his eyes were hooded and tired, and you could see in those blue depths that his mind was trying to wake up completely. Even so, there was palpable happiness on his face, and he graced me with a small, content smile.

"At least you look rested. Ish," I said.

His smile grew on an inhale, and he said, "I feel rested-ish, but I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"You have no idea how much I envy that ability," I said with a flat expression. Frowning, I added, "What time is it?"

"I don't know. Probably around eight," he replied.

"Son of a whore," I said, groaning yet again. "It's Sunday. Why couldn't they start at nine?"

Steve's hand at my spine lifted away and he rolled on to his back, reaching out to grab at the nightstand. A few moments later, I heard him chuckle.

"Good news and bad news," he said, sounding much more awake as he turned his head to look at me. "It's nine-thirty."

I let out another groan, because fuck mornings and mediocre news, and pushed myself upright, resigning myself to fully joining the waking world. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing the fallen black strands out of my face before I rubbed my hand over my eyes.

"Seriously, why can't we sleep for four years?" I mumbled.

"Because that's called a coma," Steve replied.

He sat up, too, his hand instantly finding my waist. I looked at him, wondering exactly what he was doing, as I knew he didn't need to hold on to me in order to sit up or keep himself upright. Apparently, he knew I'd be curious and been leaning in as I'd moved, because his lips met mine almost as soon as I'd turned. He pulled away after a moment, leaving me to blink up at him, both pleasantly surprised and a touch more alert. I was also a bit confused. What was that for?

"No kissing while laying down," he said by way of explanation.

Oh. It definitely seemed like he was a "hello" and "good morning" kisser. I liked that.

"I'm guessing that's a difficult rule for you to follow in the morning?" I asked, smirking.

"Incredibly difficult," he replied with a smile.

He lifted the comforter away from his legs, throwing them over the side of the bed so he could stand. Five bucks said I knew what he was doing, and holy shit, did I love him, _like_ him for it.

"Going to get coffee?" I asked.

He stretched his considerable frame toward the ceiling, his shirt lifting to show just a little bit of stomach above his waistband, his chest pushing out as the muscles in his arms tensed. It was a delicious sight to behold, so much so that I almost didn't notice him nodding.

"We both need it," he said as he finished his stretch.

Well, I couldn't have that little show and his kindness go unrewarded. I rolled my body so my knees were in the middle of the bed and pulled myself up to sit on my heels, letting the sheets pool around my knees. Lifting myself up, I straightened my legs, leaning forward to grab his wrist and tug him back toward me. This time he was the one who was surprised as I slid my hand to the back of his neck and kissed him. He deepened it, parting my lips once before he pulled away enough to see my face, a confused yet happy smile quirking up his lips and brightening his still-tired eyes.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"It's my way of saying thank you," I replied.

"I like it," he said.

"I figured you would," I grinned.

I dropped my hand from his neck and let go of his wrist so he could stand again rather than uncomfortably bend over the bed. He gave me another quick kiss before straightening up and taking a small step backwards.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Don't go back to sleep without me."

"I'm not _that_ mean," I smirked.

And as if on cue, the lawnmower rode by again for the fiftieth time since it had woken us up, sounding further away but just as annoying.

Reading my grumpy expression, Steve added, "Don't kill any lawnmowers, either, machine or otherwise."

I frowned at him, keeping my eyes light so he could see that I was joking despite being a complete crab.

"You're telling me how to live my life, again," I said.

"I _am_ that mean," he said with a smile. "I'll be right back."

He took another step backward and turned on his heel, his long stride eating up the space between the bed and the partition door until he disappeared from view, leaving me to contemplate whether killing the gardener's tools would be considered justifiable homicide.

Author's Note:

It's my goal to make these two your OTP, or at least one of your OTP's (you can have more than one, right?). How am I doing so far?


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

It was my mission to permanently leave an imprint of my ass on the TV room couch. Okay, realistically, I didn't have that kind of time, so I at least wanted it to remember me. Or that's what I was telling myself as I bounced up and down on the cushions with each giddy and angry emotion that this evil show elicited from me.

I was back in the TV room where I'd introduced Steve to the wizarding world, inhaling Supernatural episodes like they were visual cigarettes and getting frustrated during the time between episodes, despite knowing that I was going to watch the next one in a few moments. Once the damn episode loaded! Speaking of Steve, I hadn't seen him since we'd parted ways that morning. Not that I minded. Even though I deeply cared about him, I loved my alone time. I may be an agent almost always on the go and around other people, but I was an introvert, and I needed to be away from people to recharge my batteries. Besides, I didn't think you could have a healthy relationship if you were around the other person all the time, or had to be around the other person all the time. You'd either get sick of each other or you'd get clingy, and I wanted neither. So, I had let him do his thing in peace while I worked off as many Chinese food carbs as I could before I ate more carbs, took a shower, and sat on my ass to torment myself with a television show.

And torment, it was. I was in season eleven, watching episode twenty, and my fucking heart hurt. There was so much back and forth with sadness and anger and happiness that my poor brain didn't know what to do anymore. I should have been close to the end of the episode at this point, but honestly, I couldn't keep track of time because I was too busy trying to not yell at the screen. And then, with the strumming of a guitar, there was a wave of dust in the room that tried to make my eyes water, and I had to keep waving that shit away from my face. A few minutes later, the screen cut to black. On a cliffhanger.

I let out a loud growl of frustration, paused the episode on the credits, and smacked my head into my hands, muttering a string of expletives like I'd just stubbed my toe on a coffee table. This was an excellent, exasperating episode and I needed to process it before I moved on, because _what the fuck did I just watch_?!

I could hear something just beyond the sounds of my aggravation, quick, heavy footfalls coming down the hall toward me. I lifted my head out of my hands and rested my head back, looking upside-down at the room behind me, waiting for whoever it was to come around the corner. It probably wasn't someone coming to kill me, seeing as how they weren't being quiet at all, but I still planted my right boot into the couch, pulled my .22 pistol out of its shoe holster, put my thumb on the safety so I could click it off at a moment's notice, and rested the side of it over my heart.

I didn't need it. It was Steve who came around the corner with worry settled into every part of his face. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw me sitting there. I breathed a little sigh of relief that he wasn't a bad guy. It was a win-win situation all around.

"I thought you were hurt," he said, a note of concern lingering in his voice.

I gave him a grumpy, sad look over the back of the couch, and said, "I'm hurt emotionally. This show is going to kill me."

He walked toward me, angling toward the left so he wouldn't be directly behind me when he came up to the couch.

"Supernatural?" he asked.

"Mhmm," I hummed. I lifted my head so I could put my gun back in my boot holster and added, "Those writers are sadists."

I looked back up at him when I felt the weight of his hands pressing on the back of the couch, and found him in the middle of shifting his gaze from the paused screen to me. He looked curious and amused, now. Hooray.

"I might have something that will cheer you up," he said.

Well, that was both out of the blue and mysterious. Wait, what time was it? Was it late afternoon already? Okay, I had to play this cool and try to not act too excited that I was finally going to know what he was up to.

"Is it a tub of ice cream and a fuzzy blanket?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

He smiled, knowing full well what I was doing, and replied, "No. It's something better."

I blinked up at him with genuine surprise. He must have gone all out for whatever this was to be better than ice cream. Was it pizza? Was it personal library tailored specifically to my tastes?

"This, I gotta see," I said.

In one smooth motion, I pivoted my body on my right foot, planting my knee into the couch and lifting up so I could stand on the cushions and swing my legs over the back of the couch. Steve, who had taken a step back, gave me an unapproving look when I landed.

"It would have taken too long to walk around, and I needed to see this thing that is somehow better than ice cream five minutes ago," I said by way of explanation.

His distaste instantly gave way to a smile and a shake of his head, and wrapped his large hand around mine.

"Then let's make up for lost time," he said.

He quickly led me down the halls, stopping at corners so he could look around them, making sure that no one was walking the corridors. It felt like we were either in Mission Impossible or like we were two teenagers trying to not get caught. Every so often, he would flash me an excited, boyish smile that made my legs go weak. Yeah, definitely teens trying to not get caught.

We made it to the back of the building without anyone seeing us, and he stopped us right in front of a set of double doors. He cracked one of them open, glanced outside, and turned back to me.

"We're heading for the tree line. There should be a five-minute gap between rounds, so we'll be able to get to the trees with no one seeing us," he explained.

Tree line? Was he going to murder me in the woods? Of course he wouldn't, but boy, did woods always raise some questions. Well, as many questions as could be had when I couldn't think past this delightful haze.

"Wow," I muttered as he turned back to look out at the lawn. "You planned this to the letter, didn't you? What would you have done if I'd wanted to stay on the couch?"

He threw a smirk over his shoulder and replied, "You wanted to know what I was doing too badly to stay on the couch."

Okay, he had me there. I turned my lips down and nodded my head sideways, shrugging my shoulders as if to say that he had a point, and he turned to the door with a wide smile on his face. His hand on mine suddenly tightened and he stepped forward, pushing the door wide open.

"Come on," he said.

I went. We walked through the freshly cut grass, our pace somewhere between a light jog and a speed-walk. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone in a bulletproof vest to yell questions at us. They didn't. We hit the tree line without me seeing even one helmeted head bobbing around the landings. No one was there. We were going to have to fix that once this was all said and done. Five minutes was too big of a gap for there to not be people guarding the entrances.

Steve pulled me deeper into the woods, letting the trunks and bushes obscure us from sight as we made our way over the uneven ground. My eyes roved around, watching my feet step over a fallen branch before I turned my head up to look at the wind rustling the leaves. I was so distracted by the beauty of the forest around me that I almost didn't realize Steve had stopped pulling me along until I was a foot away from his body. He was turned toward me again with yet another knowing smirk on his face. I think it was becoming one of his favorite facial expressions. That and laughing, the latter of which I absolutely loved.

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?" he asked.

"Mhmm. Enough to forget that you're supposed to be watching where you're walking," I replied with a guilty smile.

"Funny you should say that," he said, his smirk turning a touch devilish, which was a word I never thought I'd use to describe him. "Close your eyes."

I stared up at him, my eyes wide in what shock I could grab from beyond the fog.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"We're almost there and this is still a surprise, so close your eyes," he insisted.

"You rhymed just then," I said. Yes, I just had to crack a joke to dispel my ingrained paranoia.

Steve leaned down a bit, his eyes becoming more determined as he lowered his chin to level his eyes on mine.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Butterflies shuddered their wings in my stomach, and I knew that it wasn't from nervousness. I'd never been so turned on from a command in my life. If that was all it took to make my stomach flip, then I was in so much trouble. Quickly! Deflect with humor!

"Yes sir, Cap'n Tight Pants," I smirked.

You know, when talking to him, maybe a semi-flirtatious line from Firefly wasn't the best way to go seeing as how our flirting always escalated into making out. Screw it. I'd already said it. No turning back now. Thankfully, Steve just straightened his spine and laughed, shaking his head at me for the one hundredth time since we'd met. I'd dodged a sexy bullet.

"I don't think I've ever had so many nicknames in my life, especially like that one," he said.

"I just want to keep things interesting," I replied, finally closing my eyes.

"You always do," he said, a smile evident in his voice.

His hand on mine tightened again and he gently pulled me forward.

Not able to leave well enough alone, or remain silent for five seconds, asked, "You're not gonna murder me out here, are you?"

"No," Steve laughed. "You really are paranoid. Step down."

I did what he said, my feet fumbling on the ground, my toes testing for sticks and rocks and holes so I didn't bust my ass or break my ankle. Steve kept the pace slow, telling me when to step where, stopping me when I was about to step on something that would land me on the forest floor. He warned me when we were about to hit a patch of rocks, giving me time to adjust to the way they would roll underfoot. And boy, did those suckers roll quite a bit. They clicked together, almost masking the sound of the wind through the trees and the gentle lapping of water. Water? What the hell? Before I could open my mouth to ask where we were, he stopped me, placing his hand free hand on my upper arm. His hands suddenly released me, and I heard the rocks crunch under his feet as he slipped behind me.

Did he watch Beauty and the Beast without me or something? Was I in a romantic comedy right now? Real people didn't do this kind of stuff, did they? What was happening? And why did I kind of like it?

"Open your eyes," he said, his voice a few mere inches from my ear.

I fought off another wave of beating wings, silenced the screaming bout of anxiety in the back of my head, and did what he said. Dark water lapped against a shore littered with stones that were half settled into grey sand. A few yards from the water's edge was a dark green blanket being held down at the corners by rocks, a small black and white cooler settled in the middle. I could see a small, Army green duffel bag just beyond the blanket, almost hidden among the bushes. Oh, my universe. He'd set up a picnic on a lake.

My mind didn't know whether to swoon, grin like an idiot, or play off his extremely romantic gesture like I was the epitome of douchey coolness. I usually did the last one, mixed with a mild show of appreciation for the effort put in to a show of romance, and then I would run for the hills because they were showing more commitment than I was ready for even though we'd been dating for a year and a half. I was a horrible girlfriend. So, what did I do here? I didn't want to swoon, because that wasn't my style, and grinning like an idiot just seemed way too cheesy and also not my style, but my usual style wasn't at all what I was feeling or wanted to show him since I actually did like his surprise and now my brain was stuck in a loop. Oh, fuck me!

Steve's fingers found my waist, his hand tentatively pressing into my body as if he were deeply worried that I was upset, and the loop snapped. I was back to praising Zeus and his spell.

"I have no words," I finally said, somehow managing to not sound like I'd stepped out of a Hallmark movie. "This is beautiful."

He breathed a barely audible sigh of relief, and asked, "Not bad for a first date, huh?"

"Steve," I replied, looking over my shoulder at him. A warm, glowing smile had spread across his face now that he knew I wasn't going to be a fish again, and I became incredibly happy that I hadn't gone with my usual style. "I doubt there has ever been a better first date. I don't even know how you're going to step it up from here. What's the second date going to be? A trip to Hawaii?"

"You'll just have to wait and find out," he grinned.

He lifted his free hand and motioned toward his handiwork, silently requesting I take a seat and formally begin our date. I stepped away from him, his hand falling from my waist as he moved to the right. My feet were easily able to maneuver over the rocks now that I could see where they popped and rolled, and I settled onto the left side of the blanket, the cooler separating me from Steve. I didn't feel so much as a pebble under my body as I sat down. He'd actually moved all of the rocks out from under the blanket. How was he real?!

He opened the cooler, revealing ripe fruits, sandwiches, and two bottles of water. There was no ice in the cooler, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to fit everything into the limited space, but the water bottles still had that thin, cloudy layer of frost that said they were ice cold. When had he done this? If the food was cold and raccoons hadn't ravaged everything, when had he brought this stuff out? And when had he gotten all this food?

"Where did you get all this food? And when did you bring all this out here?" I asked, quickly adding my thanks as he handed me a turkey and cheese sandwich.

"I asked Church to buy it," he replied. Ah. Church was the poor agent sent to run food errands for us this weekend. Poor guy was probably rethinking his career. Steve handed me a bottle of water, rewarding my next bout of thanks with a smile as he continued. "And I brought all of this out here about fifteen minutes ago. Maybe twenty."

"Twenty minutes ago?" I asked, tearing off a piece of my sandwich. "How did you get it past the yahoos without them asking questions?"

"The duffel bag," he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "I told them I needed to get out of the gym. It wasn't a lie, either, so I think that's why they bought it. Even I might go a little bit crazy if I spend another day in there."

Okay, I knew I was a bad influence, but this was a bit much, even for me. I never thought that I'd be able to corrupt Captain Boy Scout in to not only lying, but lying in a way that was also telling the truth so he didn't get caught. I mean, he was working with secret agents all the time. One of his close friends was former KGB. You'd think he'd pick up lying around them, but nooo sir, he picked it up from me. Dammit. Looked like it was time to not lie as much.

"So, what you're saying is that your sneakiness just got turned up a notch," I stated after I swallowed my sandwich. It was a pretty fucking tasty sandwich, too.

"Only for today. This was a special case," he smirked. Apparently, he was picking up on my worry that I'd tarnished his squeaky clean, choir boy perfection. He grabbed a couple of grapes and asked, "So, what do people usually talk about on a first date?"

"Depends on the people," I shrugged. "I like to talk about everything. Keep it light, but get into the deep shit. Figure out if their core beliefs and life plans are the same as mine while I make them laugh."

"You go right to the core beliefs on a first date?" he asked, his tone one of curiosity and mild shock. "Wouldn't most people want to wait to talk about those?"

I gave a heavy shrug of my shoulders and tore off another piece of my sandwich. "Maybe, but I think that's a waste of time for both parties. If their life plans don't line up with yours, or if you can't at least respect their beliefs, then everything should end at that first date, otherwise you'll waste time and money on a relationship that won't work."

He stared at me for a moment, a smirk forming on his lips as questions and knowledge glimmered in his eyes. He knew that it was pre-destined that our relationship would work, no matter how uncomfortable I was with that, but boy, was he curious about my beliefs.

"Then let's get deep. What would you have done if you hadn't become an agent?" he said.

Well, he certainly took my "not wasting time" comment to heart.

"I'd be a musician," I replied. "Believe it or not, I was in a band before I moved up here. You wouldn't have liked the music."

Cue the shock getting turned up to eleven. "You're kidding."

"Nope," I replied.

"You won't even sing in front of me, but you were in a band?" he asked, incredulously.

"Performing for one person is way more difficult than performing for a room full of people," I said.

"Why?" he asked. "I'd think it would be more difficult to perform for a room full of people. There are more eyes watching you."

"Personal performances are…awkward. They're incredibly intimate and there's a higher level of expectation that the audience will clap or enjoy the music, which they certainly feel, which can make it really weird to experience."

"A higher level of expectation?" he asked. It was a short, single question that held about ten more questions in the spaces between the words.

"In a large crowd, the expectation is dispersed. It's not such a big deal to clap since there are a bunch of other people there, but it also feels like more people clap or cheer more enthusiastically due to the larger crowd and the energy such a crowd can produce."

He thought about that for a moment, nodded his understanding, and moved on to the next question that danced on his tongue.

"What kind of band was it? What did you play?"

"Metal. Complete with gritty guitars and screamy bits. You know, the stuff you visibly cringe at," I replied, smiling.

"I would try to listen to one song," he said, holding up a finger, "just because it was your band. What did you do?"

"Lead singer. Rhythm guitar when we did acoustic sets."

"You screamed?" he asked, sounding more skeptical than I'd ever heard him.

"Sometimes. Jay mostly did the raw vocals and we tried to not overload the songs with them, but yeah. Sometimes. It always delighted the crowd to see a tiny woman break out raw vocals."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want to hear that," he said.

I couldn't help but laugh at the mental picture that popped into my head: Steve sitting in the middle of a small venue, the crowd all riled up, and me letting out one of my signature raspy, gravelly metal cries, causing his eyebrows to raise to the ceiling and his jaw to drop like a cartoon character.

"You really don't," I said. "You might look at me differently."

"I do that every day," he responded, flippantly.

Ah, right. Always a surprise with me. Of course. I reached into the cooler to grab an apple slice and raised it to my lips.

Just before I took a bite, I asked, "What about you? What would you have done if you hadn't gotten all buff and joined the Army?"

Steve's fingertips found his water bottle, grazing the plastic for a mere moment as he forced himself to not fidget. He looked down, as if he were ensuring that he'd succeeded, before he spoke.

"I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid. Realistically, it never would have worked. Most days I was too sick to step foot inside a hospital. I probably would have ended up working as a manager in a grocery store somewhere," he replied.

"I highly doubt that you, the guy who repeatedly applied to the Army despite the odds being wildly against him, would ever settle for running a grocery store, sick or not. You'd probably end up owning the entire damn company," I said, my tone clearly saying that I knew I was right. He looked up at me, a youthful smirk on his face telling me he appreciated my veracity, and, happy that I'd been able to make him smile, I shifted to being inquisitive. "Why did you want to be a doctor?"

He sucked in a breath that puffed out his chest and made the buttons on his green plaid shirt look like they were going to give up the fight of holding the fabric closed.

"My mom was a nurse," he said, blessedly letting the breath out. "She helped a lot of people during her career, and I've always aimed to help people. As you've probably guessed. And like I said, I was a pretty sick kid. I think the only reason I survived was because my mom was a nurse. I wanted to do that for people. I wanted to heal them, reassure them, and save them. Help them survive when they wouldn't have otherwise, and try to help them feel better when there was nothing else I could do to save them."

"What kind of doctor would you have been?" I asked. "Cardiologist? General practice? Surgeon?"

"General practice," he replied. "It always seemed like I could help more people that way. I'd know about a lot of different diseases rather than focus on just a few and I'd be able to see more patients in one day."

"Surgeons help a lot of people, too," I pointed out.

"That's true, but I wanted to talk to people and get to know them, actually build a trusting relationship. I didn't want them to turn into bodies on a table. I feel like that would have made me lose sight of why I wanted to become a doctor in the first place," he said.

"I don't think you'd have lost sight of a damn thing," I said. "Sure, they might have been bodies on a table in a way, because sometimes you have to detach yourself a little bit to cut someone open, but I don't think that would have made you forget why you wanted to be a doctor. You've been a soldier for years and you still know exactly why you want to be one, despite not being able to meet the thousands upon thousands of people that you've saved."

He looked down again, this time a small smile blooming on his lips as his fingers toyed with the cap of his bottle.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Oh, there's no guessing about it," I replied. I paused for a moment, watching him as he finally looked up again, and added, "You would've made a really good doctor."

"Aside from needing one half the time myself," he said, amending my statement for me.

"A price your crazy ass would have gladly paid, and you know it," I countered.

He let out another laugh, his head giving a single shake, because of course it did.

"I can't argue with that," he said. His humor dimmed until a bare hint of a smile was left on his lips, and he asked, "Are you ready for the next deep question?"

"Why does that sound like I'm not going to like the question?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Because you might not like the question," he replied, "but you did say you like to measure compatibility on the first date."

Holding back a sigh at my own dating rules, I said, "I did. Ask away."

He locked his eyes on mine, the blue depths becoming more serious as the words found his tongue.

"Do you want kids?" he asked.

"I like that question," I said, being completely honest.

Kids and marriage were the two biggest questions that I always addressed on first dates. Get that shit out in the open as quickly as possible. Steve's eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and I could see that he was curious as all hell as to why I, the fish, was entirely okay with such a heavy question when I wasn't even okay with kissing him in public. Hopefully he could count this as yet another pile of eggshells removed from his path. Someday, hopefully soon, I'd get rid of all those fragile little fuckers.

"No, I don't want kids," I finished.

His eye showed a bit too much white to go with his raised brows.

"Really?" he asked. "Why?"

"Eh, various reasons. I've never wanted them being the main one. I have no maternal instinct, no desire to have children, no desire to help increase the already massive human population, and the risk of passing on my genetic mutation and all the bullshit it entails for me and my potential kid is too high for my comfort. Plus, I'll be damned if I give up even one aspect of my career for anyone. That last one is selfish, yes, but it's my dream job, so fuck it. I even got sterilized so there would be literally no chance of having me having children. However, if I did, for some insane reason, decide I wanted to have kids, I would adopt an older child since they are less likely to be adopted," I replied.

I knew that Steve had heard and processed every word that I'd said, but he zeroed in on one sentence that I hadn't given a second thought to.

"You were sterilized?" he asked, a touch of horror on his face.

Fuck. That's right. Steve had lived through America's own eugenics program, the one that had forcefully sterilized thousands of people, and even killed a bunch of mental and medical patients through tuberculosis and neglect. Christ, it was incredible to think that Steve had made it to his twenties with all of his medical conditions, but it was a miracle to think that he'd survived our country's murderous little secret.

"Willingly," I quickly replied. "It was a fight to get it done, too. Most people now are all about all the women having babies."

His eyes had gotten closer to their normal size with my reassurance that Americans weren't going backwards in our sterilization practices, but those blue irises still had a bit too much white showing around them. I could see so many questions in those eyes, his mind answering each inquiry as quickly as they came, his subconscious making decisions about each response he was giving himself.

"You've really thought this through," he said.

"I've found that you generally have to have a slew of reasons to not have kids for people to even kind of accept the permanently empty state of your womb. It's weird how much some people care," I said.

A look of agreement passed over his face before confusion narrowed his eyes and chased it away. Apprehension almost immediately swam to the surface to shove confusion to the side.

"You took care of Katie, though, didn't you?" he asked carefully. "You had to have some kind of maternal instinct for that. What changed?"

Back to the eggshell minefield. But I appreciated him tiptoeing on this subject. It made the pang of loss and the hatred of my own mistakes sting less, and I couldn't thank him enough for that. I swallowed that familiar stabbing sensation that touched my heart when I thought of her and shrugged, looking up at Steve from picking up a few grapes. He looked like he wanted to say something to comfort me, or to reach out and touch me, anything to make the pill easier to take. Instead, he sat quietly, letting me clear both of our paths of my sharp, white debris.

"Katie was the only child I had any maternal instinct for. Hell, she was the only kid I actually liked for a long time. Except for when she threw that hairbrush when she was little. Not so much a fan of her then," I said, attempting to add a joke for levity. Steve rewarded me with a genuine smile and I continued. "I think I passed the rest of my maternal instinct to her. She loved kids. What about you? Any thoughts on reproducing?"

Yep, in typical Dani fashion, my mouth brought up the most painful thing it could and my brain quickly deflected to keep my sanity intact. Go me. But hey, at least I actually wanted to know his stance on kids rather than just asking to detract from my own problems. Steve gave me a look that said he knew what I was doing, but would oblige me anyway.

"I used to want kids," he replied. "I think that was one of the few ways that I was like everyone else. I wanted a wife and a couple of kids, a nice house to raise them in. I wanted to teach them how to walk, to throw a ball, how to fill the world with kindness. I wanted to be a parent and give them all the love my mother gave me, and all the love that my father couldn't. I wanted the American dream. After the war, I was going to ask Peggy to marry me. I would've stayed in the Army, but I wouldn't have been over in Germany anymore, so we could've settle down. Built our family one kid at a time."

I had to admit, my heart hurt a little when he said he'd wanted kids. Not because I didn't want him to want them, but because he'd wanted to give them what he'd never had, and now he never would. He'd wanted to be a father, one that wouldn't die, however heroically, in a war and leave a single mother to raise them, to leave them wondering what it would be like to play catch or sit on his knee while he told stories. It hurt. It hurt to think that he would have been an amazing father, and that now, he didn't want to be.

I also had to shamefully admit that I got a twinge of jealousy stabbing into my brain at the mention of his relationship with Peggy Carter. He'd cared very deeply for her, and it made me feel weird to know that, especially now that his affection was aimed at me. Especially now that I wanted it to be aimed at me. Jealousy was an idiot, though. I would have fallen in love with Peggy Carter, too, and I was as straight as a stripper pole. A stripper pole for dudes. Whatever. She was an incredibly strong, admirable, beautiful woman, and any man with half a brain would have been attracted to her. Besides, his relationship with her back then meant nothing to his relationship with me now. It was a part of his personal history, something that helped to shape who he was today, and that was something I could never be jealous of. So, I beat that twinge to death with my stripper pole of straightness and focused on the subject at hand.

"What changed?" I asked.

"I went into the ice," he replied, a small smile quirking up the corners of his mouth at my apparently obvious jealousy and its subsequent murder. "I woke up and the war was over, but I wasn't done fighting. I realized that I didn't know how to stop fighting, and I didn't want to. Helping people at every waking hour had become my life and I loved it. I loved it more than the thought of a family and stability, so I gave up the idea that I would settle down."

"Does that mean that marriage isn't in the cards anymore, either?" I asked.

His eyes locked on mine, the indefinable emotion in them so intense, so heavy that I paused in reaching for another apple slice, his gaze seeming to make the air around me too thick to move through.

"I thought so," he replied.


	55. Chapter 55

Heart, meet ribcage. I felt my eyes widen and instantly, desperately, tried to narrow them back to their original size, but my brain wasn't responding. Oh no, my mind was too preoccupied with breaking up the fight between my anxiety and my joy to even think of controlling my telling facial movements. Yes, I felt joy, that giddiness that comes with hearing someone you care about say they truly like you, the heart-stopping wonder that someone could want to spend the rest of their life with your crazy, unstable ass because they love you that much. My anxiety came because, holy fucking shit, he just implied that he wanted to marry me and that he loved me. What was more, I loved him, too, and that scared the ever-living fuck out of me, and that's why, for so long, I refused to even think that I loved Steve because what if I thought it or said it and he pulled the rug out from under me and left and everything fell to shit or he fucking died or someone tortured him, and me loving him ended in heartbreak like I always knew it would?! Ow. My brain. My heart. Can I go home now?

Seeing my inward struggle with everything that came from his sentence, he decided to kind-of distract me, and said, "What about you? You don't seem like the kind of woman to think about marriage, so where do you stand on it?"

My inner war screeched to a halt, both sides frozen in time with raised swords ready to strike, letting me regain control of my face enough to blink at him and appear nonchalant. Ish.

"Firmly on the fence," I replied as my mind quieted. "I've always been ambivalent about marriage. I figured if the right guy came along and asked, I'd say yes, but if that never happened, it was no skin off my back."

And it turned out that the right guy was sitting in front of me. Sweet Christ. I _did_ love him. Leave it to me to fully realize that on our first real date. Gods, our relationship was so weird. Gods, I was completely going to freak out about this later when he wasn't around. But for now, he'd given me an out, and I took it, making it a point to intensely focus on the conversation at hand rather than the belated, horrifying admission that I, gulp, actually loved him.

"And that's the most you've ever thought about it?" he asked.

"No," I said. "The most I've ever thought about it is that, if I did get married, I just wanted to go to the courthouse, get the certificate, and go home. No wedding planning, no fanfare, just marriage and a honeymoon before noon."

"What if the person you ended up with wanted to get married in a church?" he asked.

This man was being about as subtle as a tornado. This was not how first dates usually went, even mine. Okay, okay. I'd just pretend that it was a standard line of inquiry and that he wasn't more than likely talking about himself. That made it a bit easier to think about my answer.

"As long as he's okay with an atheist getting married in a church, I'd be okay with it. My lack of religion might not be as important to me as his religion is to him. So, we'd just do a small church ceremony, because I'm sure as shit not going to deal with entertaining a bunch of people on my wedding day, and he'll help with all the wedding prep or I'm dragging him to the courthouse."

Steve smiled at me, just a little upturn of lips as he listened, as he probably imagined me in a wedding dress dragging him by the hand to a courthouse, a bunch of bouquet option fliers trailing behind us. Why I was already in the wedding dress, I had no idea, but it was funny to think about. Me, a tiny woman in a massive princess dress that I would never wear or be able to walk in dragging the super buff, tall Captain America down the street. It sounded like something out of a bad rom-com. Steve's voice broke me out of my hilarious vision.

"When did you become an atheist?" he asked.

"About a week and a half ago," I replied, honestly.

Steve frowned at me, confused. He was connecting all of the right dots, but that didn't mean it made any sense.

"When you met me?" he asked, now puzzled and disappointed. It does have to suck to be religious and think that you were the one who drove someone completely away from religion.

"Yeah," I said, apologetically. "There's only so much you can pray to not fall for someone while you continue to fall for someone before you throw your hands up and swing from agnostic to atheist. But if we're being completely honest here, I'm still firmly on that fence, too. I'm still a godless heathen, but I'm just not sure which kind."

Another one of those cute breaths of laughter, one that, thankfully, said he thought my admission was funny rather than soul-crushing.

"So, you already didn't believe in God, but because you fell for me when you didn't want to, God absolutely doesn't exist?" he asked, humor firmly tamping down his dismay.

"Eh, kind of. I didn't think any kind of god existed but I didn't claim to know for sure, and then I made a half-assed snap judgement that God doesn't exist purely because I was frustrated."

"And now you're on the fence?"

"Swaying from side-to-side like a drunkard. Yep," I chirped.

"Then what made you agnostic?" he asked, amending his original question.

"Science," I replied, simply. "My parents were never religious. Spiritual, but not religious. They were the church on holidays kind of people, mostly doing it to please both sets of Christian grandparents, but they didn't have a set religion. When I was about ten, I started asking questions, then I dove into science and started thinking that it explained a lot about everything, and I just stopped believing when I was fifteen. That's not to say that I don't like religious people. As long as someone isn't trying to convert me or isn't being a dick in their god's name, I greatly respect religious folks. Speaking of, when did you decide to stay Christian?"

"Every day of my life," he laughed. He sobered just a bit and added, "I always felt like there was someone else, someone bigger than all of us who was watching over us. He'd let us sin, since that was our nature after Adam and Eve's transgressions, but He'd always pull some kind of good from it, even from the most horrible things, like the war. It's hard to think that anything good could come from Hitler's genocide since it was one of the most heinous acts in human history, but you can see the best of humanity in some of the darkest times. I always thought God might have a hand in that, however big or small. He'd let us learn while He watched over us. He might not always intervene, and we may not know why, but whatever happened was in His plan. It's always been this overwhelming feeling, and it's always given me comfort. It made me a better person, I think, believing that Godliness was kindness and courage and helping people."

"So, it's a feeling?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Feeling like an almighty being is out there?"

He thought about that for a moment, his brain trying to find the words that would help a non-religious person understand as much as possible.

"Yes and no," he said. "It's difficult to explain. It's a feeling because I know, and I know because it's a feeling. I'm not quite sure how to explain that. It's just an innate thing."

"I think I get it," I replied. "Well, I get it as much as someone who has never been religious can. It's a core belief, something you hold true because of personal experiences and the way you view the world."

"Yeah," he said, giving a small nod of his head. "You've got it as much as you can get it."

"It's like sports. I'll never understand it, but I can try," I joked.

He laughed at that. "I figured you might not be a fan after you left the room when Bucky and I started talking about baseball."

"When the conversation turns to sportsball, I take that as my cue to get gone," I said, adding a little bit of a classic Southern accent to the last two words of my sentence. "Plus, you two were having personal time, which is another cue to leave."

"I appreciate that," he said, earnestly.

"I would be a truly horrible person if I even attempted to butt into your relationship with Barnes," I said, dismissively. "Speaking of horrible people, what do you think about the death penalty?"

The look he gave me was both precious and hilarious. He didn't know whether to laugh, be horrified, or be confused, so he chose all of them. I wish I'd had a camera. Unfortunately, I wouldn't have been able to snap a photo because he, like always, recovered quickly.

"Nice segue," he said, sounding like he only half meant it.

"It was crappy and you know it," I responded.

"I was trying to make you feel better," he quipped.

"You've done better," I teased.

He laughed and shook his head before opening his slowly frowning mouth again.

"The death penalty," he said thoughtfully, looking at the ground. "I'm against it. Eye for an eye has never worked. All it's ever done is spill more blood in the name of justice. It's outright murder."

"Is it murder or justifiable homicide?" I asked.

He looked up at me then, his eyes determined and his mind unequivocally made up.

"It's murder. They're not being killed during combat. They're strapped to a table and injected."

"Playing devil's advocate here, it's more humane to inject them than electrocute them or hang them or even kill them by firing squad, right?" I asked.

"Murder is never humane," he replied. "All the government is doing is killing someone out of revenge, which is something that would get anyone else thrown into prison. Lock them up and don't let them back out among society, but don't kill them and pretend it's for the greater good."

"What if they escape?"

"How many times has that happened? They would keep murderers, especially ones up for the death penalty, in maximum security prisons. It would be incredibly difficult to break out of one of those."

"You're right," I said with a smile and a nod. "It's incredibly rare."

"Well, devil's advocate, what's your stance?" he asked, motioning a hand toward me as if to give me the metaphorical stage.

"I agree with you, but I have a few more reasons," I replied.

"What reasons?" he asked, his brow furrowing in curiosity.

"Let me start out by saying that I am a vindictive bitch. That part of me says to fry 'em. The moral and logical parts of me say abolish the death penalty. It's useless. It doesn't deter crime like it's supposed to, and it sucks up millions of taxpayer dollars that could have otherwise gone to things like testing rape kits, which are backlogged as fuck. In Maryland alone, if the death penalty is even presented as a possible punishment, that one case can cost taxpayers an average of over six-hundred-thousand dollars. A death sentence can cost one-point-two million dollars more than that. So, _one_ case costs one-point-nine million dollars for absolutely no positive outcome other than they might get to kill a killer, unless that person dies in prison first. And that's not counting appeals costs.

Plus, you have to factor in the mental wellbeing of the executioners, the people strapping the convicts to the table, and the witnesses that are required to be there for the execution to take place. And, if you're going for morality for the convicts, doctors and nurses can't place the needles due to their 'do no harm' oaths, so some technician has to do it, which can lead to torturous complications," I explained.

By the time I'd stopped ranting, Steve was looking at me like he had never seen me before. Or rather, he was looking at me like I'd just materialized in front of his very eyes. There was a whole bunch of shock and disbelief going on over on his side of the blanket.

"How do you know all of that?" he asked, awe clear as day in his tone.

"I did a pick-your-topic essay paper in high school," I explained.

"You remembered all of those numbers from high school?"

"No. I just refresh my memory from time to time because it's really fun to debate this topic with someone when you have numbers to back you up," I replied.

"Thank you for giving me those numbers. Now I feel like I can debate with the world," he joked.

"Don't you do that anyway?" I asked.

"Good point," he laughed.

Once again, so fast that I felt like I was going to get whiplash, that bright smile of his disappeared, this time being replaced with sudden remembrance and just a hint of eagerness.

"Hold on," he said, already pushing himself up.

I wanted to say something witty, like asking him what I should hold on to, but confusion wouldn't let the words form. This was a very abrupt change in conversation and it left my head reeling, and it felt like, between the heart palpitations, the whiplash, and the world spinning around me, I was going to end up dying on this first date. Unaware of my sudden need to lie down and let my mind rest, he walked over to the bushes that were a few yards away, rustled the leaves a bit, and turned around with the duffel bag in hand. It had an odd weight in the middle that kind of looked like dumbbells if you didn't look closely. He set the bag down in the dirt at the edge of the blanket and reclaimed his spot, his fingers unzipping the bag before his knee hit the blanket, and motioned me over with his head.

"Come here," he said.

And now I had to deal with the butterflies again. Damn, it was sexy when he was bossy. He was being politely bossy, but it was still hot. And I was still confused as I stood up and moved to his side of the blanket. I tried to peek into the bag as he rifled through it before I sat down, but I couldn't see past his massive shoulders, so I just settled in next to him and waited with bated breath. Thankfully, my lungs didn't have to deal with that nonsense as the second I sat down he turned, a leather notebook in his hand.

My mind went two different places at once. Had he been stalling so I wouldn't be able to see what else was in the duffel, meaning that there was yet another surprise that he was going to spring on me? What else did he have up his sleeve? And, was that his sketchbook? It looked different from the one he'd had at the house. How many of those things did he have?

Whatever was going on, my questions could wait. He scooted a bit closer to me, his leg almost touching my knee, and rested the book on his thigh, keeping it closed and making my curiosity go up a couple of pegs.

"You wanted to see my sketches, right?" he asked, sounding slightly unsure, but excited all the same.

"I would love to," I replied, smiling up at him.

He smiled back, that little curve of lips so charming that I felt myself melting into my socks. The button clasp opened with a snap, drawing my attention to his fingers lifting away the cover to reveal a page full of various doodles. He scooped the spine into the palm of his hand, lifting it closer to my peering face, which, I realized, had leaned down to get a better look at the pages.

On the front page alone he had drawn a speeding car, a man that looked like McIntosh, a miniature version of the view outside of his office, and a very annoyed-looking caricature of Fury with is one eye bulging in silent judgement. Each style was different than the next, and just as good. They were incredible, actually.

"Steve, these are amazing," I said. Boy, I hoped my tone conveyed how impressed I was.

"I went to art school. You can tell I didn't stay there for very long," he said, completely brushing off my compliment.

"I cannot," I replied. "If you couldn't have been a doctor, you should have been an artist."

I reached out to turn the page and he let me, lifting his fingers away from the paper and my hand. Apparently, he didn't want to potentially set off one of our little sparks of lust. He was being a gentleman.

"No," he said, again shirking off the praise. "I just sketch random things. Nothing I do could be considered good enough for an art gallery."

"I don't know," I said. "I think a piece about a monkey riding a unicycle would bring in a lot of money and attention."

I heard the softest breath pass his lips.

"You saw that, huh?" he asked.

"Of course, I did. It was right there on your desk," I replied, not looking at him. I was far too focused on picking out the details in a drawing of Lake George that he'd apparently done from memory. The only reason I knew it was from memory was because he'd missed a couple of things, but if I hadn't stared at that lake for the last few years of my life, I'd have never known. I motioned toward the scene with my hand and said, "Seriously, look at this. How many people can do that from memory? I'll answer for you. Not many."

"No," he said, starting to protest again.

I looked up at him, my eyes telling him to stop talking and listen. He did.

"You saw that lake for, maybe, a total of ten minutes and did that," I said, pointing at the drawing. "It's incredible. Take the compliment."

A humble, grateful smile curved his lips, and he said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, turning back to the sketchbook. "You artists are all alike. You critique yourself and your work more than anyone else. I bet you stare at a drawing until you hate it."

A chuckle, then, "On more than one occasion."

"Hammer, meet nail head," I quipped.

I don't know how long we sat there flipping through the pages, with him pointing out various pictures and their backstories. I saw Barnes in there a couple of times, a few sketches that were painfully reminiscent of feeling lost, a few sketches that felt like joy on paper, and plenty of things that were meant to keep his hand and his mind busy. I didn't ask about the more personal sketches. I knew how important those pieces could be to someone and how hard it could be to tell anyone the story behind them, so I let him decide if he wanted to share those feelings with me. That's not to say that I didn't have an idea of what the tales behind them might be, seeing as how they were thinly veiled behind the analogies of a large, dark room with a single bulb that cast horrifying shadows, and of lightning bolts striking around a single, blooming flower. He wore his heart on his sleeve, even in his art.

He was the one who flipped to the page that caught my breath in my chest. It was an intricate drawing of a woman lying on her back, her eyes closed and face slack with sleep, her hair fanned out on the pillow, the puffy sheet draped across her ribs being haphazardly pushed further by the wrist peeking out from under the covers, the back of her left hand touching a solid, black mass. It was me. It was me from last night, actually, my hand grazing Steve's thigh to keep the nightmares at bay while he drew.

"Reading research, my lily-white ass," I said, using sass to cover up just how fucking sweet I thought it all was.

"I couldn't help it," he said, holding back a laugh. "You were too beautiful to not draw."

I looked up at him, opening my mouth to ask if he'd happened to pack any more cheese to go with that line, and was stopped dead in my tracks at the warm smile he leveled on me, the sheer adoration in his eyes making my heart skip a beat. Heat rose up my cheeks. Oh, no way in hell was I going to let him see me blush again. Quickly turning my face away, I stared down at the picture, ignoring the heat at my back as he planted his hand just behind me to prop himself up, bringing his body closer to mine. Damn, he was getting good at flirting.

"Well, I think you took a few liberties," I replied, attempting to masterfully divert attention from my feelings. It didn't work.

"I promise you I didn't," he said, his voice soft.

Brain malfunction! How do I make a joke about this? What topic could I change to? Help! Ugh, it was useless. I had to just go with it.

"Either way," I started, blatantly ignoring his flirting, "and I'm saying this objectively, it's a beautiful drawing."

He moved the journal to my lap and leaned away from me, catching me off-guard and leaving me wondering if I'd done something wrong. When he started putting things back in the cooler, I knew I'd fucked up. Dammit! Did he think I was pulling away again? I wasn't. I swear I wasn't! I opened my mouth to apologize when he cut me off, a smile clear in his voice.

"Maybe I'll put that one in a gallery," he joked.

Oh, thank the universe. He wasn't upset. Then what the hell was he doing?

"Are you kidding? This entire book could go in a gallery," I replied, expertly covering up my lingering doubts and sheer confusion.

He finished putting everything away, closed the cooler, and moved it to the dirt next to the duffel bag.

"How big is your average gallery these days?" he asked, turning just enough to look over his shoulder at me.

"Depends on the gallery," I shrugged, "but I'd say pretty big. They have to have enough room for people to wander around."

He looked away again, and I could hear the hush of fabric moving.

"Would you say they're big enough to dance in?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound as confused as I felt. Was he doing what I thought he was doing?

Old music suddenly started filtering out from the bag, the sound slightly muffled by the heavy canvas fabric, but still distinguishable as 1940's romance. He went to one knee and pushed himself up, turning to me with one hand extended in invitation.

"Then let's make this our gallery," he said.

I couldn't say that was particularly smooth, but I could say that it got the job done. I grinned up at him as I carefully set the notebook in the duffel bag and took his hand. He helped me up, almost immediately pulling me in close, his right hand finding my waist as his hand in mine shifted to the position I'd taught him. I quickly, but not subtly, glanced into the bag to see what he was using to fill the evening air with soft trumpets and saw an MP3 player attached to portable speakers.

"Where did you get those," I asked, looking up at him. Probably not the first thing he wanted to hear after such a romantic gesture, but I was never good at romance. He understood, I'm sure.

"One of the agents was kind enough to lend me the speaker when I went for a swim in the pool," he answered.

Did he mean the pool we used once a month for training sessions? The one that I couldn't enjoy because I'd taken my swimsuit home seeing as how it was in between sessions, and because I didn't want to ruin my clothes with chlorine? That pool? Well, color me jealous.

"And the MP3 player?" I asked.

"It's mine," he replied. "I never get to use it, though. I'm usually too busy."

"Ah, yeah. You have a lot of downtime lately," I said. Jokingly, I added, "I'm impressed you know how to use an MP3 player."

"This might shock you, but I'm not horrible with technology. It just takes me a moment to get used to the different models. There's a lot to learn," he said.

"You seem to have learned dancing pretty well. This isn't even the dance I taught you," I pointed out.

Well, it kind of was. It was one of the basic waltz moves I'd taught him, only with much smaller steps that left you slowly turning in pretty much the same spot as opposed to moving all over the dance floor. The dance floor we were not on.

"The blanket makes that dance a bit more difficult," he countered.

"Agreed," I replied, "but the point still stands. You're quickly learning how to dance. And we haven't stepped on each other's toes."

"That's true," he chuckled. "My only regret is that we don't have a floor to dance on."

As if on cue, the gentle trumpets of days long past gave way to the familiar sound of fingers playing across piano keys. The very familiar sound. Oh, my gods, it was the Nightwish song he'd asked me to play for him. I stared up at him, my face probably somewhere between shocked, ecstatic, bewildered, and appreciative. I was surprised that most of my emotions weren't muddled, but they were positive feelings, so that was probably why they weren't locked behind the haze. Steve flashed a proud smile at my strange mix of emotions.

"Especially for this song," he said.

I didn't say anything. My mouth couldn't seem to form the right words to express everything I wanted to say without rambling and ruining the moment.

"It's a nice song," he said, answering about ten of my questions with four words. "And I think, given our situation, it's quite apt."

"Ooo. You keep using fancy words like 'apt' and I might go all gooey," I joked. Humor was my innate reaction to romance, apparently.

"I think you're already gooey," Steve quipped, raising an eyebrow and smirking like a less mischievous James Dean.

"I have to be. You went all out and gooey is the only appropriate response," I replied. I stared up at him, his blue eyes harboring a sincerity I'd never seen in modern men, and I couldn't help but want to open up to him, to tell him what I was thinking. He would probably make a really good therapist. "Honestly, I never thought I'd like something like this."

"What?" he asked. "Dancing in the woods?"

"Yes. And having a picnic for a date. It's all so romantic and I've never been the romantic type," I replied.

"I think everyone has a different version of romance. Mine just happens to be hopeless," he said, thoughtfully. "What's yours?"

"Not this," I said, simply. I shrugged and added, "I don't know. I guess beer. Pizza. A blanket fort where we have late night conversations and watch movies. Basically, my version of romance is one step above hanging out."

"But you like this?" he asked. Why did it suddenly sound like he was going to be clever?

"Yes," I replied. See, now I was happy I had that fog because it meant that the twinge of suspicion I had wouldn't spill over into my tone, even if I didn't try to sound normal.

He paused for a moment, and I could almost see the words forming in his mind as yet another smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth.

"Then I think I'm turning you into a hopeless romantic," he said.

"Nope. Never gonna happen," I said.

"It's too late," Steve insisted. "The transformation has already begun. By this time tomorrow, you'll be picking flowers and singing love songs."

With an exaggerated gasp, I leaned away, letting mock affront consume my features.

"Blasphemy," I said, sounding as horrified as possible.

Steve laughed and tightened his hand on my waist, pulling me back into him.

"You can admit it," he said. "I'll keep it a secret. I promise."

"I will admit no such thing," I said, lifting my chin haughtily. After a brief moment, I dipped my chin back down, a sly smirk touching my lips as I added, "But I do make a mean breakfast in bed."

"That's all the admission I need," Steve joked.

Before I could even think to open my mouth with a witty retort, he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. He was the best at shutting me up.


End file.
